


You already won me over (in spite of me)

by Blue_in_Green



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Character Study, Coming Out, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Gen, M/M, Team as Family, sorta - Freeform, the fastest slowburn you'll ever read, what is homophobia i don't know her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:33:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21599230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_in_Green/pseuds/Blue_in_Green
Summary: Midorima doesn’t come to Shuutoku looking for a team, friends, or a relationship. They find him anyway.
Relationships: Kise Ryouta & Midorima Shintarou, Midorima Shintarou & Shuutoku High, Midorima Shintarou/Takao Kazunari
Comments: 24
Kudos: 175





	You already won me over (in spite of me)

**Author's Note:**

> This monster has been taunting me the past like 8 months and I've finally conquered it! Largely self-indulgent look at Midorima's first year at Shuutoku and how he develops into a real team player and also falls in like with Takao. Hope you enjoy~!
> 
> edit: I forgot to mention there is a rather descriptive scene of a character having a panic(/anxiety) attack at number 22, so please if this is possibly triggering for you make sure to make proper preparations or even skip the section as a whole. Only scene 22 deals with this.

1

Akashi declares his idea the same way one might discuss the weather. The Miracles are to split up, face each other on the court, find out who exactly is the strongest of them and wouldn’t you know it looks a little stormy outside so don’t forget your umbrella, okay?

Midorima for the first time feels laughter bubble up in his throat, or maybe it’s bile. The faces of Aomine, Murasakibara, Kise, are strained, their lips spread thin, but they don’t speak up. Akashi stares back, his heterochromatic eyes glow eerily in the moonlight, and the Miracles accept his words, as they are wont to do. 

Kise cries on the way out, he tries to hide it, choke down his whimpers, but they’re all too attuned to his tears by now to mistake it for anything else. The other Miracles and Midorima carefully ignore his small sniffles and leave with their heads high. Kuroko wasn’t even there, Midorima thinks. 

If he had been, would it have ended the same way?

Bright red hair catches Midorima’s eyes and the answer comes to mind: _no_. Kuroko is stubborn, different from the Miracles, but even he cannot take a stand against Akashi, no one can. Well, not yet, anyway, this all seems for naught but even then Midorima doesn’t plan to give up. Not when he has something to prove, not when he has an acceptance letter waiting for him at home. If not one of the Three Kings, then who else could topple Akashi’s throne?

It’s his fate, his destiny, Akashi is not immune no matter what he thinks. Victory will be his. Let the other Miracles try their best, to no avail of course. Midorima can feel triumph flowing in his veins, it’s his right. 

1.5

(Shuutoku has a strong, reputable basketball team, built up from years and years of hard-work and determination. Privately, Midorima thinks Aomine would combust at the mere thought. That image and the powerhouse team is what makes Midorima choose it in the end.)

2

“Hey, Midorima Shintarou-kun!” A voice calls out to him. Midorima sighs, he only wanted to get to basketball tryouts, not be disrupted by annoying classmates. He turns around to see a short, dark-haired boy with bright, silvery-blue eyes and a airheaded smile on his face. 

“Yo! I’m Takao Kazunari,” the boy introduces himself, “You’re going to join the basketball team, right? I am too, nice to meet you!”

Loud, is Midorima’s first thought. Irritating, is his second. Midorima isn’t here to make friends and certainly not with other first-years who have stars in their eyes. Basketball is his only priority. Still, he has to know, “How do you know my name?”

The boy laughs like Midorima told him the funniest joke he’s ever heard. Loudly. “It’s harder to find someone who plays that _doesn't_ know your name.”

Midorima clicks his tongue, shifts his eyes to the ground. It just figures that Teikou follows where he goes whether he likes it or not. His grip on his lucky item tightens, the other boy notices.

“Hey, what’s that?” he asks curiously.

“My lucky item for today, according to predictions on the Oha-Asa show,” Midorima says, “Scotch tape.”

The other boy bursts into hysterics, Midorima doesn’t really get what’s so funny—just watches as the fool clutches at his stomach and asks between bouts of laughter, “What’s with that?”

“What is so funny?” Midorima says and he can _feel_ a headache coming. This boy is truly aggravating.

“I mean,” the boy says, pausing. “Isn’t it funny? That your lucky item is scotch tape? And now that I think about it, the way you speak is kinda funny too.”

Midorima glares as the boy dissolves into more chuckles. Someone like this, he thinks, is the worst type of person. All talk, nothing to back it up. Surely this is someone who’s destined to be a hindrance to hardworking and more deserving people.

“You’re annoying,” Midorima says. “Stay out of my way.”

The other boy’s giggles fade into the background as Midorima makes his escape to the gym.

3

“Midorima Shintarou, shooting guard,” Midorima says when it’s his turn for introductions. It’s unspoken that he’s a Miracle. Anyone who followed Teikou’s exploits knows, anyone who plays basketball knows.

“Midorima, huh,” the captain says thoughtfully. There are whispers at his name, of course, and he feels eyes trying to burn a hole into his head. Nothing new and easily ignored. “You’re one of those, what are they called? Miraculous kids?”

“Ootsubo are you fucking serious?” says another third year, his hands were twitching like he was used to having something to hold—or strangle. “He’s a Generation of Miracles.” 

“Oh yes, I’ve heard of them,” Ootsubo says but his unbothered reaction tells Midorima he really, _really_ hasn’t heard of them. He’ll learn in due time.

The captain turns back to the line. “Next!” He calls.

Midorima doesn’t bother listening to his fellow first-years introduce themselves, it’s unlikely any of them will make the first string like him anyway. He runs his laps and bides his time, the coach has his eye on him already, Midorima knows, smug. 

The rest of those freshmen-hopefuls are stunned by Shuutoku’s rigorous training but Midorima is satisfied, anything less and he would have doubted his choice. His fellow first-years run out of practice throughout the week like the gym was on fire. Midorima has to roll his eyes, hadn’t they done _any_ research? Shuutoku, one of the three kings, how could they imagine anything less than thorough?

Good riddance. Middle schoolers fooling around had no business on this court.

4

“That shot is amazing as always.” 

The voice surprises Midorima, who stayed on the court after practice for some extra shots. He turns to find that laughing boy from his first day. Midorima, sweaty and tired and in no mood to deal with idiots, demands, “What’s so funny?”

“Your three pointers never cease to amaze me,” the boy clarifies, chuckling, places a hand on Midorima’s shoulder, “But really, isn't the arc way too high?”

“Shut up. Don’t get in my way,” Midorima tells him. The nerve.

“Sorry, sorry,” says the other boy, cheerfully. He retracts the hand on Midorima, waves it emphatically and continues, “I can’t deny your effort, though.” 

Midorima huffs. This boy is way too confusing. Annoying and blunt one moment, apologetic and kind then next. He was like a male version of Momoi, albeit one that laughed a lot more and was much louder. “What do you mean by that?” he asks.

The boy makes a confused sound. 

Midorima explains, “Lately, when I stay late, you’re always here too. And furthermore, you always try to compete against me every chance you get. Do you hate me specifically?”

For the first time, the other boy becomes serious. Midorima watches as he pushes his fringe, wet with sweat, away from his face. His eyes are bright and clear even after harsh exercise, sweat drips down his cheeks, Midorima fights the bizarre urge to wipe it away. He doesn’t like mess. The boy looks down and huffs softly.

“Well, yeah,” he says and Midorima… didn’t think he’d actually admit it. He doesn’t know why it hurts so much to hear, either. “I guess you wouldn’t be able to remember who I was, after all?” he sounds like he’s asking himself rather than Midorima.

Then he faces Midorima, and raising his voice, says, “Back when I was in middle school, my team faced you, Teikou, and we lost. Badly. It frustrated me so much that even after I quit, I kept practicing.” He glances down again. “But then, when I came to high school, the guy I swore to defeat was standing right in front of me as a teammate. Seriously it’s hilarious.”

Midorima stays silent, processing. It’s the first time he’s heard repercussions of his time at Teikou. He wonders how many people like this boy he helped create, how many others had that same determination to continue. Could it have been a service, then? To weed out the unworthy, half-hearted players? Isn’t that _something_ —

“Anyway,” the boy says, picking up a stray basketball and dribbling in place. “It’s no use to hate you now, you know? It’s more like, I wanted you to acknowledge me. Maybe that’s why you thought I was competing.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” Midorima asks.

“Are you serious?” the boy—Takao—he had introduced himself all those days ago, sputters, choking out another giggle.

Midorima sneers. “Why are you laughing?”

“I’d like to ask you why!” Takao says. “What do you want me to say, ‘Yeah I’ve been practicing my hardest after taking a beating from you’? How embarrassing!”

He takes a moment to stifle his amusement while Midorima watches, curious. “Still, I hope you don’t plan on acknowledging me yet because I have much more practice to do in the meantime.” Takao pauses his rant to run at the nearby hoop with the basketball and scores a layup. “So just wait and I’ll be tossing you passes that make you ooh and aah. Remember that, Shin-chan!” He finishes by pointing at Midorima.

Midorima rears back, caught off guard by the invasive nickname. “Don’t call me by such a personal name, Takao.”

“Wait—you—my, my name!” Takao stutters. “You remembered—?!”

Of course Midorima remembered the name of the rowdy boy from his first day, the boy who’s been staring at him every practice since. But really, what’s the use in giving him the satisfaction of Midorima using his name without having worked for it? He still has a long way to go before Midorima can truly acknowledge him, but for now he’ll keep an eye out.

5

Midorima makes the first string within a month.

“What a surprise,” Miyaji-call-me-senpai-or-else mutters.

“Don’t sound so upset, Miyaji,” his new captain, Ootsubo, chides. “Midorima-kun is a fine addition to the team.”

“He’s also standing right in front of us,” Kimura, their (mostly) quiet power forward, says blandly. 

Midorima’s seniors are chatty, way more friendly than the GoM, and rather underwhelming. They have ambition, sure, and the skills to back it up, but there’s something about them that Midorima can’t pinpoint.

“Right, right,” Ootsubo says. 

The captain looks serious at first glance but so far he’s been nothing but easygoing and polite. Midorima thinks back to when Kise first joined the team, thinks on how stilted their first conversations were. In contrast this first string is strikingly friendly and likes to make jokes. In fact, Ootsubo and Miyaji act more like a comedic duo than rival teammates and all the while Kimura sighs fondly in the background, even slipping in a quip or two before turning around and acting innocent.

Something in Midorima stirs. Shuutoku is _so_ different.

Kimura sighs. “What our captain means to say: welcome to the first string, Midorima-kun.”

“Yeah, good job, kid,” Miyaji chimes in, as close to nice as he can be, Midorima assumes.

“You’ll be practicing at different times than you have been,” Ootsubo says and authority materializes in the cross of his arms, Midorima stiffens. “Those of us in the first string, you’ll find, aren’t in the habit of giving up our positions.”

The grins his seniors give are nothing short of feral, Midorima is intimidated against his will. It’s a warning, these seniors are here to stay and the second string has absolutely nothing on them.

“It can't be helped, however,” Ootsubo continues, “Our previous shooting guard and point guard graduated last year, so they had to be replaced. Now that I think about, Coach Nakatani hasn’t found a point guard he’s satisfied with yet, has he?” The last part is aimed at Kimura and Miyaji, who shake their heads, negative. “It’s no matter, we’ll be getting a fifth some other time. For now, let’s get to work.”

6

Takao sits at the desk in front of Midorima. This has been the case since the first day when sensei had assigned seating but only after their post-practice talk did Takao start greeting him every morning and chat incessantly at him, whether Midorima replies or not.

“Midorima-kun!” Takao exclaims one Tuesday before the bell rings. “Your lucky item today—!”

“What about it?” Midorima asks flatly. Inside his grip, his lucky item, Maron the bunny, squirms derisively.

“It’s so cute!” Takao squeals. He turns around in his chair fully and sticks out his hands, palms up, and makes a grabby motion. “Here, here.”

Maron wiggles with renewed vigor, like he agrees. Midorima remains unimpressed. “No.”

“Why not?!” Takao demands, sounding honestly upset. Midorima flusters and various classmates pause in their conversation to turn and stare at his outburst; Takao wasn’t normally one for anger. 

Midorima feels his cheeks heat up at the extra attention, and clenches his jaw at Takao’s obstinacy. “Because I said so,” he replies stubbornly. 

“Midorima-kun, you brought a bunny to class?” Shimura, the class president, asks incredulously. If he didn’t have the whole class’ attention before he sure does now.

“My lucky item,” he corrects.

“Well if it’s your _lucky item_ ,” Shimura mutters sarcastically. Midorima graciously ignores her. She’s an Aries, she wouldn’t understand anyway.

“What’s its name?”

“Is it a boy or a girl?”

“I think I have an extra carrot in my bento, can I feed it?”

“This is your fault,” Midorima hisses at Takao. He hands over Maron, just to get his classmates away from his desk. 

Sure enough they swarm Takao the moment Maron hops into his grasp. Oohing and aahing when he tries to nibble on Takao’s finger. Midorima grits his teeth and looks out the window. 

“Shin-chan, what’s its name?” Takao repeats the previous question. 

Midorima glowers at the nickname on principle and debates whether or not to answer, figures it’d be more troublesome if he didn’t. “Maron,” he says and feels embarrassed, compelled to add, “I borrowed him from my little sister.”

“Macchan,” Takao says and maybe _declares_ is a more apt word, there’s an air of finality as he pets Maron while saying, “Little cutie Macchan.”

Beside him, a couple of classmates squeal and are quick to agree that _yeah he is so cute_. Somehow, it doesn’t feel like they’re talking about Maron anymore, their eyes gazing wondrously at Takao, their bodies leaning closer, one particular student is bold enough to place her elbows on his desk, her face is so _close to him_ —

The pencil Midorima was holding breaks in his grip. Takao is— he’s—he’s defenseless, paying too much attention to the bunny to realize the advances of those around him. Midorima can’t let this stand, Takao isn’t there for their entertainment—he’s. Well. His classmates need to back off in any case. 

“Takao,” Midorima says, suddenly and with enough authority that it sends the students gathered around the other boy scurrying away. “Come here, Maron knows a couple of tricks, I’ll teach you.”

Takao’s returning smile is what some might describe as bright and sunny, but to Midorima it’s nothing short of satisfying.

7

“Shin-chan,” says Takao. Midorima’s panting, exhausted from practice in the best kind of way and staying after to make some shots. Takao has been too, recently, and they’ve been maybe-sort-of practicing together. It gives Midorima a chance to brush up on his defense, nothing more.

“What is it?” Midorima asks. His grip on the basketball is slippery from sweat. Annoying.

“I don’t think I ever congratulated you on making the first string.”

Midorima pauses in his form, looks to Takao who’s dribbling in place, expression carefully blank. “There’s no need for such sentiment,” Midorima tells him, “it was merely my fate.”

“Still,” Takao says. “Congrats.”

Midorima tsks, he doesn’t like the expression on Takao’s face—for all that they’ve known each other for a month, and talked even less than that, he can tell is too bland, too unfamiliar, somehow wrong—and his voice holds a note of something unknown to Midorima. He sinks a three-pointer absently and reaches for another ball. “Takao should come out and say what he means clearly. I have no time to decipher his riddles.”

“Nothing gets past you, huh, Shin-chan?” Takao sighs wistfully. He too shoots a ball towards the basket. It goes in. “...I know I told you to wait for me, but now it seems… How can I put it…”

“This is the first time you’ve put thought into your words,” Midorima says after Takao’s pause goes on longer and longer, “I didn’t know it was possible.”

“Shin-chan,” Takao yelps. He whips his head around to look at Midorima so fast Midorima thinks his neck might have cracked. “The first time _you_ show a sense of humor and I’m over here being serious! Unfair!”

“Shut up, Takao,” Midorima says, “Spit it out already.”

“Well, what do you want me to do then?” Takao huffs. “Shut up or speak?”

“Takao!” Midorima says. This boy is the most aggravating, stubborn, _annoying_ person he’s ever met. And Midorima has met Kise. And Aomine. And Mura— Midorima has met a lot of annoying people, okay? So he knows what he’s talking about. “Why are you moping?” he asks directly.

“I’m not moping,” Takao says hotly, “ _You're_ the one moping!”

“I am not!” Midorima says.

“You _are_!” Takao insists. His eyes flash and Midorima freezes, speechless in the face of Takao’s rage. “You’ve been so, so— _ugh_ , lately! You’re making me forget words, are you happy, Shin-chan?”

Midorima finds his voice again. “I’m not to blame for your non existent vocabulary,” he snaps. He knows he’s deflecting, he _knows_ and that’s— he’s not normally one to shy away from saying exactly what he thinks. He’s not Kise with his crocodile tears or Akashi with his manipulative words. 

And, and who was Takao to call him out like that? Sure they practice together everyday and talk between classes and Takao’s the only person at Shuutoku Midorima feels comfortable enough to trust with his little sister’s precious bunny and he always comes with Midorima to search for next day’s lucky item when he asks unlike the miracles who had only scoffed and turned their heads and—where was he going with this?

Midorima clears his throat, pushes up his glasses. He takes a second to consider Takao’s words like he should have in the first place. “Thank you for bringing my behavior to my attention.”

“So you admit it?” Takao asks. “Aren’t you happy? Isn’t the first string what you wanted?”

 _Isn't the first string what you wanted?_ echoes in Midorima’s head. It is, of course, what he wants. To beat the other miracles, is another thing he wants, this whole bet, is something he wants to win.

The first string is kind. For all of Miyaji and Kimura’s bluntness, for all of Ootsubo’s scary captain moments, he thinks he might be growing fond— 

Ahem.

He gets along with them fine. They are good pawns that do their duties well, a solid support in his conquest of the other miracles. That’s all they are to him.

(Ootsubo offers ice cream after practice, much to Miyaji and Kimura’s protests of _we're not kids!_ , Midorima always declines but perhaps some day he might…)

“I want a team that can get me to the Winter Cup.” That’s all Midorima wants. 

“Right…” says Takao, subdued. “You still don’t have a point guard up there, do you?”

Coach Nakatani has been trying various second stringers and non-ranking players alike, none of whom seem to have the chops to keep up with the third-year trio, let alone Midorima. For all that Shuutoku is a powerhouse, there seems to be a remarkable shortage of point guards—or ones that are compatible with the current first string, at least.

“No,” Midorima says. “We’re still searching.”

Takao’s eyes sharpen, a smirk playing on his lips. “You won’t be lonely for much longer, Shin-chan,” he says, “I promise.”

7.5

(Unlike the other miracles, Kise texts him often, asking about his day, his mood, his lucky item, if he’s made any friends. Midorima is sorely tempted to reply to that last one with something other than a simple “die” but he isn’t sure that Kise wouldn’t claw his way through Shuutoku’s gates in an attempt to see for himself.

Troublesome, Midorima thinks, and instead opens up his chat with Takao.)

8

“This is Takao Kazunari,” says Coach Nakatani, shoving Takao forward into the arms of the first string. “He’s your new point guard for the week. Ootsubo.” The coach nods at the captain, unspoken _I leave this to you_. Coach puts a lot of trust in his players. It’s refreshing.

“Hey, Shin-chan,” Takao greets and the words are muffled into Midorima’s chest where he hadn’t bothered to compose himself after the coach’s push, “come here often?”

“Oh great,” says Miyaji, “another idiot. Just what we needed.”

“Then you're in luck, senpai!” says Takao as he untangles himself from Midorima, grinning all the while, unbothered, unabashed. He glances between the three third-years, bouncing on the balls of his heels.

“I’m Ootsubo Taisuke,” Ootsubo says, “Welcome to the first string.” 

“For now,” Miyaji adds. Ootsubo sends a disapproving look, but he has a point, this is only a trial run to see if Takao is a good match. Midorima kind of hopes he is, just so they can stop searching and focus on the Winter Cup.

“Let’s just start practice, _please_ ,” Kimura says.

9

“Shin-chan,” Takao says. Midorima looks down at him, walking through the hallway side-by-side. “Did you really peddle that thing all the way to school?”

‘That thing’ being his lucky item for today, a rickshaw with a bicycle attached. “Of course I did,” Midorima says. “Did you expect me to push it?”

“No need to get all prickly, I was only curious,” Takao huffs.

“I’m not prickly,” says Midorima. “Shut up, Takao.”

“Wait,” Takao says, freezing in place and making the students behind him fluster, hurried to pass around him and get to class. Midorima pauses too, tries to crowd Takao against the hallway wall and not be a total nuisance to those around them. Takao, oblivious to his actions as usual, rubs his chin in deep thought, and Midorima glares.

“If you’re quite done, we have class to get to—” he tries. 

“Shin-chan is prickly,” Takao interrupts, sounding on the verge of an epiphany. “And his hair is green. Prickly and green. Almost like a—”

“Finish that sentence,” Midorima warns. The late bell rings out and suddenly he and Takao are the only people left in the hallway, Midorima pressing him up against the wall and Takao staring up at him with wide eyes. Midorima scrambles backwards. “We should. Get to class.”

“You’re right, of course, Shin-chan,” Takao says, unbothered of the position they were in. No shame whatsoever, Midorima thinks, disgusted. “We _are_ pretty late.”

“If we get in trouble, I’m making you peddle me home,” Midorima says. 

“Don’t worry, sensei loves me.”

They got in trouble. Midorima made good on that promise. And did so again the next day, the day after, and so on. He’s bought a whole rickshaw, might as well get some use out of it. And Takao could always use some stamina building.

10

“You guys don’t play around,” Takao says.

Midorima’s busy shooting his three-pointers but when he glances over, Takao’s on the ground, panting, face shining with sweat. “Obviously not,” Midorima says. He tries not to think too hard about the way Takao’s spread out so indecently. Adjusting his glasses, he reaches for a ball.

“Tomorrow will make it a week,” Takao says. A week of Takao on the first string.

“So it will,” says Midorima and shoots a three-pointer. There’s silence after his words, a pregnant pause, but Midorima remains purposefully dense. Takao has a tendency to be sly with his words, Midorima’s trying to break that habit.

Takao pouts. “Shin-chan, tell me, do you think I did good?”

If Midorima’s being honest, Takao _was_ good. He fits with the first string better than any other point guard has. His play, while nowhere near Miracle-level, is surprisingly strong and consistent. He’s reliable with his passes and his chemistry with Midorima is off the charts. Midorima would call it fate, to receive a partner best suited for his style of play (and Midorima _was_ grudgingly pleased when he learned Takao is a Scorpio).

Midorima would be shocked if Coach Nakatani sends him back down, he might even put up a fight should it come to it. Takao is a hard worker and there’s nothing Midorima respects more than hard work. Even if his personality was a piece of work in of itself. 

Takao raises to a sitting position, now staring at him. Midorima realizes he’s been silent for too long. “You were fine.”

“Just fine?” Takao says, he looks disappointed for a quick moment before perking up once more. “But now that I think about it, ‘fine’ coming from you is a big compliment, isn’t it? Thanks, Shin-chan!”

Midorima flushes, pushes up his glasses where they were falling down his nose. “I wasn’t complimenting you, it’s merely a fact. You’re a good point guard, that’s all there is to it.”

“I like that about Shin-chan.” Midorima stares but Takao looks away suddenly. He pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his head upon them, still unable to meet Midorima’s eyes. “You’re surprisingly sincere when you want to be.”

“That shouldn’t be surprising,” Midorima sputters. “I’m not a _liar_!”

Takao laughs, the tenseness in his frame melts away. Those silver-blue eyes look amused when Midorima meets them. “You are so,” he argues. “Remember when you lied to Shimura-chan that the test was today instead of tomorrow? Shin-chan got our poor class president all flustered.”

“The horoscope for Aries was to expect the unexpected,” Midorima says. “I don’t make the rules, I merely abide by them.”

Takao laughs again. “An even bigger surprise: Shin-chan is sneaky.”

“ _You're_ sneaky,” Midorima mutters petulantly.

“Well, yeah,” Takao agrees. Always rolls with the punches, that one. Or maybe it’s the lack of shame. “Not all of us are giant 195cm genius shooting guards. You take all the spotlight and I’ll provide the backup behind the scenes, sounds good, right?”

That’s how he’s been playing the whole week and if it sounds good out loud, it works even better during a game. It’s like Takao has eyes on the back of his head with the way he passes to the first string. Midorima had found himself shocked in the beginning but quickly took advantage of his skill, the same as Kimura, Ootsubo, and Miyaji had.

It is curious, now that he thinks about it. Midorima frowns. “Your passes,” he says, pauses.

“Like ‘em?” Takao asks, amused. “Point guards are supposed to be good passers, you know.”

“I know that!” Count to ten, Midorima thinks to himself, and rhythmically clenches and unclenches his hands. “You’re passes,” he repeats through gritted teeth, “are good. More than good. How do you know exactly where I am on the court?”

Takao smirks, because he never fails to be the most annoying person at the most inopportune moments. “First of all, I know where _everyone_ on the court is, not just you, Shin-chan. And secondly I’ve got these,” he says and points a finger at his eyes. 

Midorima sucks in a deep breath at the admission, and wills himself to calm down. _Right now_. Takao isn’t Akashi. What are the chances of two Emperor Eyes? Impossible, he tells himself. 

Unbeknownst to Midorima’s internal dilemma, Takao continues, “My family calls it the Hawkeye. My mom’s got it, my big sister, my aunt, and I think my little cousin too. I’m able to see the whole court and everything that happens on it. Useful, right?”

The vice on Midorima’s chest loosens, and it suddenly becomes easier to breathe. What an embarrassing reaction. It’s lucky that Takao is unobservant in his rambling to have looked too closely at Midorima.

“Useful,” Midorima echoes. “Why didn’t you inform Coach of this the very first day? You would have been on the first string within the week with a skill like that.” Maybe not the first week, Midorima hadn’t even managed that, and he was, well, _him_.

“I didn’t want to…I don’t know,” Takao says. He’s quieter now. “I didn’t want to be given this position just because I was born with some talent that others weren’t. It’s not… it isn’t fair, you know? I wanted to earn this. Myself. And now I know that I have—I mean, if I stay on the first string that is.” He laughs off the last part, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly, but all Midorima can think is—

“You’re destined to be my partner,” Midorima says, abrupt, as if struck by lightning. 

His speech, the passing, the way he always loses rock-paper-scissors, his diligent work ethic, all qualities compatible with Midorima. His entry into Shuutoku, same year, same drive, ambition, to make the first string. Midorima takes a second glance at Takao.

Takao stares back, head tilted, a single eyebrow raised. He leans back on his palms, legs outstretched. Patient, Midorima mentally adds that to his list too.

“I dunno how you got that from my little rant,” Takao says. “But I guess we do work really well together, huh?”

“Yes, we— ahem,” Midorima coughs. “We’ll see.”

“We’ll see,” Takao repeats. “Then, does that mean… I mean, do you think…” 

“With your talents,” Midorima says, and continues with the utmost sincerity, “I believe you deserve to stand on the court.” 

Takao looks at him, his expression soft, his voice a near whisper when he finally says, “Thanks, Shin-chan.”

10.5

(“Turn left, Takao,” Midorima says, raising his voice to be heard over the sound of Takao’s panting. It was loud. Not just his panting, but the rickshaw was old and worn when Midorima acquired it, and it certainly sounds that way.

“The GPS said straight,” Takao grits out. Even his hostile tone is a great reprieve from the squeaking of the wheels, Midorima takes a sip of his drink, contemplative.

“Who do you trust,” Midorima asks. “Me or the GPS?”

Takao doesn’t miss a beat. “Well the GPS isn’t making me cart him all the way to Kanagawa, so.”

“I mean it, Takao,” Midorima says, insistent. When he glances behind him at Takao, he notices the white-knuckled grip on the handlebars, the way he slouches but practically stands on the pedals. Midorima would feel guilty if this wasn’t for his own good (and besides that, Takao had lost rock-paper-scissors fair and square). “Take a left here.”

“No way,” Takao says, stubborn as ever, “I decide how we get there. You haven’t even peddled once today!”

“Of course I haven’t,” Midorima says. “Cancers are ranked first today.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Takao wails. Midorima ignores him in favor of taking another sip of his drink. “And anyway, if we’re coming all the way out here to watch your middle school teammates they better be good!”

“That copycat, and our invisible sixth member,” Midorima says. He can’t bring himself to say their names, somehow it feels too intimate. 

“Are they good?” Takao presses.

What a stupid question. “Hurry up, or the game will be over.”

“It’s your fault for wasting all that time reading horoscopes!” Takao says. “And not to mention, Shin-chin is heavy too!”

“Shut up, Takao.”)

11

He’s only able to watch the last five minutes and that’s because he ended up abandoning Takao to run to the gym. Kuroko, Seirin, surprises Midorima and Kaijou by beating them soundly.

When he finds Kise, alone, solemn, water splashed on his face, and eyes unseeing, something like disappointment settles heavy in his chest.

“Gemini’s have terrible luck today,” Midorima says and Kise jerks from his bent over position. “But I still didn’t think you would lose.”

“You came to watch, Midorimacchi?” Kise asks.

“It was an unfortunate game. Even a monkey could score dunks like those,” Midorima continues, and if it ends up hurting Kise to hear, good, he deserves it. Midorima had believed in him and that game was thanks he got? “No wonder fate didn’t choose your side.”

“I haven’t seen you since middle school,” Kise says. _And this is how you treat me_ , his eyes say. Midorima flinches and Kise softens just a bit. “It’s good to see you again. I see you haven’t stopped taping your fingers.”

Kise and Momoi were the only ones who ever cared for small talk. Midorima remembers how it used to frustrate Aomine to no end, given that he almost always had at least one or both of them by his side. They never gave him a break. 

“But really, as long as the ball goes in, who cares that it was a dunk?” Kise says, there’s a beginning of a pout working it’s way on his face and Midorima sneers. 

“That’s why you’re mediocre,” Midorima tells him. Of all the miracles, Midorima had assumed Kise would understand. Perhaps it’s too kind of him to think so. “Getting the ball in from up close is too easy. Getting it in from far away is true value. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that saying? ‘Man proposes, God disposes.’” 

Kise frowns at him but doesn’t reply, the water he had previously splashed on his face looks uncomfortably similar to tears. Midorima, stomach churning, throws a spare towel he had with him to Kise. “I do my best. I follow fate, that’s why I never lose,” he says and turns his head away as Kise dries his face.

“Shouldn’t you be talking to Kurokocchi instead of me? He won after all,” Kise wonders. There’s a curious expression when Midorima glances towards him again.

“There’s no need,” Midorima says. “B-blood types like myself and A-blood types like him never get along. I respect his style and determination, but I disagree with his decision to attend a school like Seirin. I came merely because we’ll be facing each other in the division preliminaries. Honestly, they’re not good enough.”

There’s an uneasy pause as Kise and Midorima stare each other down, letting his last comment permeate in the air. Kise makes a noise but it’s drowned out by the familiar ring of a bicycle. 

“Midorima, you bastard!” Takao all but roars, furiously pedaling towards the duo. His appearance is haggard, his hair windswept and wild, there’s sweat rolling down his cheeks and neck. Midorima wills himself to look away as he comes speeding in. “You left me alone in the middle of traffic! Don’t you know how embarrassing that is?!” 

“I only came to see the game,” Midorima says to Kise, ignoring Takao completely, as is sometimes necessary. “But allow me to apologize. There is no way we will lose to Seirin, so I regretfully advise you to give up on your petty revenge.”

Kise remains quiet, his eyes visibly conflicted. He glances at Seirin briefly, the team passing by without noticing the two miracles, and then back to Midorima. He opens his mouth, but whatever he’s about to say is buried under the seething arrival of Takao.

“So now you’re ignoring me, huh?” Takao says, huffing, fussing, and slapping Midorima on the back. Midorima is shocked forward and sputters. “That’s right, Shin-chan, now stand there and think about what you’ve done while I introduce myself to the cute boy.”

Kise makes a noise not unlike a giggle that’s stifled when Midorima glares at him. Takao pushes past Midorima to look Kise up and down, and Kise, in response, does the same to Takao. 

They’re like that one expression, mixing like oil and water—or maybe more like a house on fire. Except in this scenario the house is Midorima, and Takao and Kise blaze away. A ‘call me Takao, and do you mind if I call you Ryou-chan?’ later, and Midorima stares between the two chatting more and more excitingly, his face heating and fists clenching. 

This is a pair that couldn’t, shouldn’t, become friends. Not on Midorima’s watch.

“Takao, we’re leaving,” Midorima says.

“Whuh?” Takao says, his eyes finally, _finally_ , leave Kise, “Shin-chan what about the game?”

“It’s—” Midorima says. 

“Ah,” Kise interrupts, sheepishly. “You actually missed it. Sorry.”

“Oh,” Takao says, and he sounds disappointed for only a second before, “That’s okay. Meeting Ryou-chan makes coming all the way out here worth it.”

“Takaocchi is very sweet,” Kise says, delighted. Midorima is disgusted at the familiarity of the nickname, disgusted at the fact he’s surrounded by the most shameless people he knows, disgusted with the way Takao smirks smugly at him. “Too bad Midorimacchi isn’t the same way.”

“Nah, Shin-chan is like an igloo, cold on the outside, warm on the inside,” Takao says and it sounds embarrassingly fond.

“Shut up, Takao,” is all that Midorima can say, flustered beyond belief and especially so when Kise laughs. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here!”

Takao only smiles, his eyes crescent, and holds his arms up in a ‘who me?’ way. It’s maddening.

“I’m glad Midorimacchi is making friends at Shuutoku,” Kise says, then, leaning towards Takao, “I was worried when we parted ways in middle school, but it looks like he’s in good hands.”

Midorima wishes the ground sunk and swallowed him whole, he’s filled with such indignant fury he doesn’t know what to do with himself. His face must resemble a tomato and he has a tight grip on the frog statue in his hands—and so much for today’s lucky item. 

“I’ll take _great_ care of Shin-chan,” Takao says, raises his left hand and places his right one over his heart. “I promise.”

11.5

(Takao stays on the first string. He reveals his Hawkeye to the upperclassmen and Coach, and gets a slap to the back of his head for not doing so earlier. There’s a split second where he looks uncomfortable but it disappears when they drop that line of conversation in favor of Ootsubo offering ice cream to celebrate. Takao accepts and to his own surprise, so does Midorima. The seniors make no comment but he can feel their gazes rest on him the whole time. 

Some people should mind their own business.)

12

They lose to Seirin in the preliminaries and Momoi’s screaming in his ears. 

He’s outside the arena, the grip on his phone loose, while rain falls around him, on him, but Midorima pays no mind. It’s almost nice. Too bad it doesn’t drown out Momoi’s incessant questioning. He hangs up after the third ‘tell me’ and lets water condense on his glasses, sighing. 

His phone rings again and Midorima glares down at it even as he picks up. If Momoi could stop with her stupid, relentless, _invasive_ —

“ _You sound grouchy_ ,” a familiar bored voice drawls and Midorima startles. He hasn’t heard from him since Teikou. “ _Guess that means you lost_.”

“Aomine-kun. Yes, I did.” He’s accepted it. It hurts, but there’s no use in wallowing when he clearly needs more practice. “Touou will be facing Seirin soon. You should prepare carefully.” 

“ _Like practice? Gross_.” Aomine hasn’t changed a bit. “ _It's no big deal, really; the only one who can beat me, is me_.”

Midorima would like to see that attitude hold up to Kuroko and Kagami.

“ _I'm hanging up now_ ,” Aomine says awkwardly, after Midorima remains silent. 

“ _Wait, wait, Dai-chan_ ,” Midorima hears Momoi say in the background. There’s odd scuffle sound and then Momoi’s voice comes back louder, her tone cheerful as she stomps on Midorima’s melancholy. “ _Sorry to bother you when you're sad, but cheer up Midorin, it'll be okay_!”

Midorima hangs up on principle.

13

Midorima is dragged back into the arena when Takao finds him. He’s never cursed his teammate’s Hawkeye before but he’s sure this won’t be the last time either. 

The team is scattered across their assigned locker room, Kimura sitting the bench solemnly, Miyagi still changing, Ootsubo talking to Coach Nakatani in the corner, but they all look up when he enters. Midorima feels oddly guilty and shuffles under their stares.

“I take full responsibility for our loss, Captain,” he says and means it. He’s supposed to be a pillar of the team, their ace, and he let them down. “Punish me as you see fit.”

“Shin-chan, what—” Takao starts but he’s immediately cut off by Ootsubo.

“Why would I do that?” he asks, and he sounds honestly curious.

“I,” Midorima says. For some reason it’s hard to get the words out of his mouth, his throat dry and tight. “I failed you. The team. I’m a worthless ace.”

“Is this kid for real?” Miyaji asks, he slams the locker shut as he puts the rest of his clothes away. Midorima flinches at the sound, and then again at the way Miyaji stalks towards him. “If you’re getting punished for failing the team then we _all_ need to be punished.”

“But.” Midorima blinks.

“Silly, Shin-chan,” Takao says, “There’s five players on a basketball team. You know, for an A+ student you think you’d know how to count—”

“What these emotionally-stunted jackasses mean,” Kimura interrupts. “Is that, it’s not one person’s fault. We win as a team and we lose as a team.”

“Well put,” Coach Nakatani says, Ootsubo nodding beside him. “But furthermore, we’ve become too complacent. If Midorima thinks like this then it shows just how much we rely on him. I expect more from third-years, how can you let a freshmen show you up like that?” 

His words are harsh but it’s a challenge. And it works like a charm if the way Miyaji, Kimura, and Ootsubo straighten up mean anything. 

“Midorima-kun,” Ootsubo says. “I can see the way you hold yourself back around us, the way you tread lightly, the way you beat yourself up over a simple mistake. You desperately try to push us away but just last week you came along for ice cream. You don’t need to pretend anymore. Let your seniors carry some of your burden.”

“Yeah,” Miyaji adds, “And it’s also kinda embarrassing how much we rely on you and Takao, you know. Have a little faith in us and we’ll show you how it’s done.”

“Miyaji-senpai…” Midorima says, “Captain…” He can’t find any more words.

Something must show on Midorima’s face, because Miyaji takes one look at him and stutters out, “H-hey, why are you getting so sentimental all of a sudden? Wipe that mushy expression off your face right now!”

“Is Shin-chan getting emotional?” Takao asks, excitement clear in his voice. “I wanna see!”

“Shut up, Takao,” Midorima grits out. He can’t as well say it to his embarrassing seniors, Takao is his only scapegoat. 

“Midorima-kun, don’t mind them,” Kimura says, light as ever. “We appreciate your understanding.”

“Loosen up, Kimura-senpai,” Takao complains. “Shin-chan is opening his heart to us!”

“Is that any way to talk to your upperclassman?” Miyaji is on him so fast Midorima is sure he’ll get whiplash.

The conversation devolves into further bickering between Miyaji and Takao, with Kimura on the sidelines goading both parties and Ootsubo observing quietly, exasperated. Midorima is grateful, for the subject change.

Midorima tilts his head back, stands alongside Ootsubo and watches his team without comment. Like a flashback, there was Kise and Aomine at their best, the arguing, teasing, mutual respect. Kuroko, over there, making offhand remarks to keep it interesting. Murasakibara shoveling food into his mouth, entertained, like eating popcorn at a movie. In the corner, Akashi and Momoi talking quietly with each other, amused.

Midorima blinks harshly, his surroundings returning, catches Ootsubo raising an eyebrow at him. 

“Don’t take this too hard, Midorima-kun,” and his name is spoken kindly, fondly, with a touch of firm. Midorima finds himself nodding obediently, he’s been afraid of disobeying Ootsubo before but this was nothing like that. Ootsubo is stern at times, a bit dense at others, but he’s only ever been well-meaning. “You’re young. You’ve got time.”

Midorima knows this, of course, but it doesn’t release the vice around his heart. Nothing but winning will. Still, he can’t bring himself to say so aloud, not when his teammates found it in themselves to speak so kindly about him. 

So Midorima nods, appeasing Ootsubo, who places a hand on Midorima’s shoulder and squeezes before letting go. He then turns to the room and speaks at large, “If you don’t shut up and gather your belongings in the next five minutes the bus will leave without you.”

It stops Miyaji and Takao real quick, gaping in place before they break out into a sprint to the lockers. Midorima bites back a snicker as he calmly buttons up his Shuutoku jacket. He doesn’t doubt Ootsubo, and neither do Miyaji, Takao, and Kimura. They know better.

14

The bus leaves without them. Midorima _knew_ this would happen. His luck took a turn off a steep cliff after the match with Seirin. At least he has Takao with him, who’s yelling at the upperclassmen through his phone.

“I was in the bathroom for literally _two seconds_ ,” says Takao. Loudly. A woman pushing a stroller stares as she passes them by. Midorima quietly pretends he doesn’t know Takao. “No, Miyaji-senpai, I wasn’t raising my voice at you. Maybe you should get your hearing checked—”

“Idiot,” says Midorima, and snatches the phone from Takao because he clearly can’t be trusted with damage control. “Miyaji-senpai, this is ridiculous please turn the bus around and pick us up.” 

“ _Oh so now pain-in-my-ass-number-two wants to get on my nerves? Ask nicer and I'll think about it_ ,” Miyaji says imperiously. 

“I said please,” Midorima mutters.

“See,” Takao says. His hand reaches for Midorima’s grip on the phone, lowering Midorima’s arm to shout into the device. “I told you Miyaji-senpai needs his hearing checked—”

“Shut up, Takao!” says Midorima. Then, in a calmer voice, to the phone, “Miyaji-senpai, could we please talk to Kimura-senpai?” 

“ _What am I, his assistant_?” Miyaji spits. “ _Call him yourself_.” and promptly hangs up. 

“That’s a good point,” says Takao, scratching at his jaw and grabbing his phone out of Midorima slackening grip. “Why didn’t we do that in the first place?”

Maybe it was a mistake to come to Shuutoku after all, Midorima thinks, and bids farewell to his remaining brain cells while he still has the chance.

“Kimura-senpai!” Takao says cheerfully into his phone. “Thanks for picking up on the first ring unlike that other senpai—okay! Cutting to the chase! Can you please turn the bus around for your poor underclassmen?”

Midorima strains to hear Kimura’s response over the hustle and bustle of pedestrians. It’s weirdly busy on the street and it’s not even nice out. In fact, it almost looks as though it’ll rain again.

“For real?” Takao whines, bringing Midorima’s attention back on him. “But, Kimura-senpai—! ...I understand. See you Monday.” 

“We have to get back by ourselves,” Midorima guesses. 

“Yep,” Takao says, popping the p. His hands interlock behind his head, the epitome of nonchalance, while Midorima seethes and curses the upperclassman he had called kind just a while earlier.

They continue walking in silence for a short while before Takao complains about being hungry and declares that he and Midorima will be getting dinner. Midorima’s stomach doesn’t disagree. 

Okonomiyaki is spelled out in Romaji above a curtained entrance and it somehow feels like stumbling upon a river in a desert. Midorima’s stomach growls, Takao sprints ahead. 

“Excuse me, sir, do you have two…” something stops Takao from finishing his sentence, just as Midoirma reaches the entrance and glances inside to see—

All of Seirin, Kise, and Kaijou’s point guard staring back at him and Takao. 

“What are you two doing here?” demands Seirin’s captain. “Where are the others?”

Takao laughs sheepishly. “We lost the upperclassmen while Shin-chan was crying.”

 _That lying little..._ “Hey,” Midorima barks, but Takao pays him no mind, as usual.

“We figured we might as well get something to eat,” Takao finishes.

Midorima can’t stand the sight of Seirin so soon after their loss, and especially not their blank, naive faces. He turns around immediately and tells Takao, “We’re going somewhere else!”

“H-hey, wait!” Takao calls out behind him, but Midorima hears the footsteps following him anyway.

Cancers are first today. Midorima has his lucky item tucked in his bag, and yet, rain whips around them like a typhoon, forcing them back inside the restaurant for shelter. Midorima has never doubted Oha-Asa’s predictions before but this is really getting ridiculous. 

“Huh?” Takao says as they re-enter, suddenly delighted. He’s not one to stay beaten down, much to Midorima’s own chagrin. “Say, aren’t you Kasamatsu of Kaijou?” 

The point guard of Kaijou, the one sitting across from Kise, with Kagami and Kuroko. That table smells like bad news. Naturally, it’s the one Takao makes a beeline for.

“You’ve heard of me?” Kasamatsu asks, his expression baffled.

“I saw you in _Basketball Monthly_ ,” Takao answers and gains the attention of everyone in the restaurant. “You’re a nationally ranked point guard. As someone who plays the same position, I’d love to hear your stories! Do you mind if we join you? Let’s go talk over here.”

Takao’s a force of nature, a whirlwind of determination and pushiness. Poor Kasamatsu doesn’t realize as he stands up, caught in Takao’s whims and guided to the next table over, probably wondering just how he got to his new seat. The trio of Kise, Kuroko, and Kagami sit in confusion. And Midorima? Midorima resigns himself to a little chat with three people he didn’t want to see for at least two weeks.

Midorima walks to the table as calmly and composed as he can, sits down with his eyes closed and his arms crossed. If he looks at the stupid expressions of Kise and Kagami, he’ll only get angrier. The atmosphere is tense, though there’s an excited exclamation coming from Seirin’s coach that’s drowned out before the words can reach him. It’s Kuroko who breaks the impasse.

“Why don’t we order something?” he says, opening a menu. “I’m hungry.”

“I’m already pretty full, so I’m fine with what we already have,” Kise says, smiling and Midorima is furious at the sight. Someone all happy and blissful can do nothing but irritate him in this moment. In the background, Midorima hears Kagami order from the waiter. 

“I’m surprised you could eat that shit,” says Midorima, sneering. Anything to wipe the stupid grin off Kise’s face.

“Why would you say that?” Kise pouts angrily and it vindicates Midorima like nothing else but he has no time to be satisfied because Kagami is _still_ ordering and it’s all Midorima can hear.

“You’re ordering too much!” Midorima snaps at him just as Kise yells something unintelligible behind him, fed up with Kagami too.

“It’s alright,” Kuroko interjects calmly. “Kagami-kun can eat it all of it himself.”

“Is he really human?” Kise asks under his breath, and Midorima is inclined to agree. Especially when the size difference of their food is revealed, Kagami’s being almost triple his own. 

Midorima’s appetite disappears along with his patience and he can’t even bring himself to look at his food any longer. 

“I know losing sucks, but come on,” Kise says, coaxing and pleasant. But Midorima can only hear that same tone of voice in their third year, pleading with Aomine to come to practice (and then remembers the way he would overhear Kise crying in the locker room, when he thought he was alone). Midorima shivers, Kise continues, “Yesterday’s enemies are today’s friends!”

“I just lost to him,” says Midorima. Because it still stings and seeing Kagami’s stupid, ignorant face is like a punch to the gut, and Kuroko’s impassive expression might be even worse. “If anything, I can’t believe you have no problem sitting with them. You already lost to them once.” The first-year duo that shook up Kaijou. Midorima’s heard the stories well after that day even though he had been there to witness it himself.

“Well,” Kise says and there’s note of confidence buried deep in his voice that Midorima’s never heard from him before. “I'll get my revenge at Inter-high, of course.” 

It pauses the whole table, his words. He’s not the only one who heard it then, Midorima thinks, watches the way Kuroko stares at Kise, surprised. Even Kagami, who’s only just met Kise, freezes in his spot, food halfway to his mouth. 

Kise’s eyes gleam, indescribable, and Midorima finds himself taken aback. 

“I won’t lose next time,” Kise says. 

“Bring it on,” Kagami says with a good-natured laugh.

Midorima takes a second to scrutinize Kise, his posture, the lines on his face, his eyes. Even when they saw each other after Kaijou’s game with Seirin… “Kise. You’ve changed a little.”

“Really?” Kise blinks.

“You’re eyes,” says Midorima, conflicted. “They’re strange.”

“Strange?!” Kise echoes. He pauses, a pensive look on his face, Midorima hopes he doesn’t strain himself. “Maybe it’s because I’ve started practicing more since we played against Kurokocchi.”

Midorima stares, shares a glance with Kuroko who looks as surprised as he can and quickly turns back, takes in this new Kise. One that has the motivation to practice once more. Midorima didn’t think he’d see the day, or, well, see it _again_.

“Also,” Kise says, resting his chin on his fist and staring somewhere over Midorima’s shoulder. The same area he can hear Takao laughing and chatting away with Kaijou’s point guard. “Lately I’ve been thinking… it’s pretty fun playing basketball with the guys at Kaijou.”

Something burns in Midorima’s chest, like regret or disappointment or anger, or all three at once. “It seems I was mistaken,” he says, slices a piece of food calmly. “You have not changed at all. You’ve simply reverted to a state before our three consecutive championships.”

Kise lets out a huff of a laugh, it's not quite amusement but it’s not a grimace either, like he doesn’t know how else to respond. He’s never been good with words anyway.

“But…” Kuroko says, his eyes meeting Midorima’s. Midorima clenches his jaw, Kuroko’s eyes were always the worst part of him, too seeing, knowing, uncomfortable. “We were all like that back then.”

“How you change is up to you,” Midorima retorts. Kuroko and Kise and all the other miracles would do well to know this. And regardless of how they used to be, this is what Midorima is now. “I personally do not play basketball to have fun.”

“Man, you guys think way too much,” Kagami says around the food in his mouth, and his voice grates on Midorima’s nerves like nails on a chalkboard. “Of course we play basketball because it’s fun.”

“What did you say?” Midorima asks, lips curling in disgust. “How dare you speak like you understand when you know nothing at all—”

There’s a sudden warmth on his head and startled gasps around him that cut off his next words. Takao’s making an odd choking noise from somewhere behind him, clearly the culprit of the okonomiyaki now dripping down Midorima’s face, and Midorima thinks _that's it_. 

“We can continue this talk later.” He ignores the gaping faces of Kagami and Kise, the bland but judging eyes of Kuroko, and stands up, desperately reaching inside himself for some form of composure through his rage. 

“Takao,” he says, matter of fact. “Come here.”

“Sorry, sorry,” says Takao, as Midorima advances on his table, looking increasingly like a deer in headlights.

If he was going for innocent, it’s not working, and it’ll never work, Midorima knows him too well by now. Nodding calmly at Kasamatsu, he grabs at Takao, who’s squirming does nothing against Midorima’s iron grip, and pulls him out of his seat towards the exit. He’s had enough embarrassment for one day. They should have left much, much earlier.

Takao struggles against him but Midorima has a whole 19 centimeters advantage over him, plus the strength that comes with pure rage. In the end, Midorima has an arm under Takao’s chin and the other closing the door behind them.

“I said I was sorry!” Takao shouts, his fingers dig into Midorima’s arm and Midorima lets go with a hiss.

“You’re not sorry,” Midorima says. Because he knows Takao, and he knows what sorry looks like on Takao. He steps forward just as Takao steps backward, his back meeting a telephone pole. Midorima straightens to his full height. “But you’re about to be.”

“You know, Shin-chan,” Takao says coolly. “You’re not nearly as menacing with okonomiyaki on your head.”

Midorima growls, pissed at Takao, pissed at Kagami, at Kise, Kuroko, all of Seirin, and this whole horrid night. He brings his trembling hands up to brush away the food and if he clenches his jaw any harder he’ll have to visit his dentist.

“Hey, hey,” Takao says and there’s a sudden gentleness in his voice that makes Midorima look at him. “If you tug so hard on your hair, you’ll go bald. Nobody wants that. Come here, I’ll help.”

It takes a minute to find a way Takao can actually reach the top of Midorima’s head to clean him. But then Midorima’s sitting on the curb of the sidewalk, his legs folded underneath him and Takao kneeling beside him. Takao’s deft fingers comb through his hair, grabbing odd crumbs here and there. And if his fingers linger to massage his scalp a few minutes longer, Midorima doesn’t comment.

Midorima breathes in and releases. The cool summer night’s air is nice, much nicer than the uncomfortable warmth of the restaurant. Takao continues his ministrations, Midorima leans into his touch. 

“You did that on purpose,” Midorima says, realizes, now that his head is clearer. “The food.”

“Hmm?” says Takao. “Of course not. That was an accident.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Midorima snaps. If there’s one habit of Takao’s he’s trying to break, it’s this one.

The fingers in his hair pause and a sigh ensues. There’s a rustle, a shifting of fabric, and then Takao’s sitting next to him, and Midorima tries not to focus on the way their thighs brush up against each other. 

“You’re right, I did it on purpose,” Takao admits, finally.

“Why?” Midorima wants to be mad at him but he only finds himself curious, and, dreading his next words but filled with the need to know, “Did you lie back then? Do you actually hate me?”

“Shin-chan, no!” Takao says, startled, and he could never understand the way Midorima breathes in pure relief. “I could never! Well, I did, once, but that’s not me anymore!”

“Then, why…” Midorima furrows his eyebrows.

“I don’t hate you,” Takao repeats, staring at his clenched hands resting in his lap as if they were particularly fascinating. “But what you said really pissed me off!”

“You were listening in on my conversation,” Midorima says and the thought was enough to remind him uncomfortably of Akashi at his most paranoid. He tries to shake off the thought, comparing Takao to Akashi was enough to make him shiver.

“Everyone in the restaurant was, Shin-chan,” Takao says, an apologetic slant to his mouth, “You must’ve known that.”

“Spit it out, then, Takao,” Midorima says.

Takao sighs and for a split second he looks embarrassed, then Midorima blinks and it’s gone. Takao opens his mouth, “When you started talking about how basketball isn’t fun for you, I got really angry all of a sudden. Because, when I play basketball with Shin-chan I’m always very happy—and when you catch my passes and score off them, I feel like there’s nothing else in the whole world I’d rather be doing. So, so when you told Kagami, told him— _that_. I didn’t like it!”

Midorima’s mind stutters to a halt. 

_When I play basketball with Shin-chan I'm always happy_. 

Can someone like that truly exist? And yet, there is Takao, sitting next to him, sincerity dripping from his every word. Midorima’s heart clenches, the thought that someone enjoys playing basketball with him beyond the guaranteed win that comes with being a Miracle, it's practically an unknown feeling. 

_I feel like there's nothing else in the world I'd rather be doing_.

It seems so obvious now. They way Takao sticks by his side no matter what, Midorima himself had known they were perfect partners on the court, but away from the court could there possibly be more? Takao is his friend, there’s no doubt about that, but when exactly did his words become so _important_ to Midorima? It’s like Takao wormed his way into his heart without Midorima knowing or having any choice in the matter. How very Takao of him.

 _When you started talking about how basketball isn't fun for you, I got really angry all of a sudden_.

And Midorima finds that… he really doesn’t want Takao to be angry, especially not at him. Takao is a person who should always be laughing, even at the expense of Midorima. Or rather, Midorima thinks he’d like to be the one to make Takao laugh at all costs. 

Midorima wants all of Takao’s kind words, wants his happiness, his comforting touches, and above all else, Midorima wants him by his side. And that’s―

Ah.

 _So that's what this is_.

Midorima has a call to make.

But first―

“Don’t worry about my words,” Midorima says, pushing up his glasses. Tries to convey his actions through insufficient words, “They weren’t meant for your ears, only Kagami.”

“So then,” Takao whispers, clears his throat and Midorima watches his eyes shutter from his hands to the restaurant and finally land on him. He meets those silver-blues head on. “Ah. Shin-chan is such a liar. I told you.” 

He may not have been a liar at the time, but then he had also not taken Takao into account. Midorima accepts the title graciously and watches a pleasant pink flush rise on Takao’s cheeks and thinks if agreeing with Takao is all it takes to do _that_ then it might be worth doing so again.

“You should really apologize though,” Takao says and there’s that mischievous glint in his eyes again. Midorima huffs, Takao can never make it easy.

“For what?” Midorima asks. “ _You_ flung food on _my_ head, if I remember correctly.”

“Must’ve been enough to give you a concussion, clearly,” Takao says loftily and outstretches his arms, his legs folded parallel to the curb. “I meant the way you yelled at your friends… and Kagami. You should apologize.”

“Tch,” Midorima says, and looks away, down the street. It’s getting dark out, they should really be going home by now. 

“Also,” Takao says and now he’s laying on the ground, the dirty sidewalk, his back facing Midorima. “You left your bag in there. And would you look at that I’m asleep, I couldn’t possibly go get it for you.”

“Takao, enough, get up,” Midorima orders, but his hands are already under himself, lifting up.

“Zzz,” says Takao, not moving a muscle.

Midorima shakes his head and walks to the restaurant. Why does he even bother.

“Kagami,” Midorima says as Kise, Kuroko, and the man in question visibly perk up at his reentrance. He ignores their stares and reaches around the table for his bag. “Let me say this one thing to you.” 

“Huh?” Kagami says intelligently. 

“There are two members of the Generation of Miracles in Tokyo,” and he would do well to remember this, given just who the other is. “Myself, obviously, and a man named Aomine Daiki. You will face him in the championship league. He is the same type of player as you.” 

Arrogant, rude, and dumb as a bag of bricks. 

But also…

Monsters on the court.

“What?” Kagami says, baffled. Midorima’s lips curl in disgust as he realizes Kuroko must’ve never so much as talked a _word_ of his former teammates. “I don’t really understand, but I guess by that you mean he’s strong, too?”

“He’s strong,” Kuroko cuts in, a look as though he’s seen a ghost. And maybe that’s what he was avoiding. For the phantom sixth member it seems like he’s the one most haunted by their past. “But his play style… I don’t like it.”

The words are heavy in the atmosphere, and Kise and Midorima are the only ones there who could possibly have a chance at deciphering the odd note in his voice. Kagami stares him down, clearly he can see there’s more to Aomine and Kuroko than his words suggest but Kuroko holds his tongue and that’s the end of that. 

Midorima shoulders his bag and leaves enough money for his and Takao’s orders on the table, he’ll have him pay him back later. As he strides over to the exit he throws out a vague “do your best,” and decides it’s a sufficient apology.

“Midorima-kun,” Kuroko says suddenly, alongside the sound of a chair scraping against the floor. It’s enough to stop him in his tracks but he doesn’t dare look behind him. “Let’s play again some time.”

“Of course,” Midorima says and continues forward. “And I’ll win then.” He means it.

Takao raises his head at his appearance and searches his face, but Midorima only stares back defiantly. Takao huffs out a laugh. “Have a nice chat? I can tell. Shin-chan has a way with words after all,” he says and grins at him as if he can feel the determination burning in Midorima’s soul. 

And Midorima can’t help but smirk back. 

“Though that lucky item of yours…” Takao says as he stands up and stretches, falls into pace with Midorima’s stride.

“Next time I’ll find a bigger Shigaraki,” Midorima says confidently. One that’ll be useful.

“I really don’t think size is the issue, Shin-chan!” Takao exclaims but Midorima can practically _feel_ the indulgent smile.

It’s a good thing Takao is facing away from him, or he’d see the admittedly gooey expression Midorima’s wearing.

Yeah, Midorima knows exactly what this is.

15

Midorima doesn’t have to make that call. His parents returned from their business trip early much to the delight of his little sister, and even to his own relief. He’d rather not talk about his situation over the phone.

“Mom,” Midorima says when it’s only the two of them in the kitchen, washing the dishes while his father and sister goof off in the living room.

“Yes?” Mom asks. She’s humming a little song, putting dried silverware into their rightful spots.

“How do you know,” Midorima says and pauses. He doesn’t know how to phrase this. “When you met Dad, did you know that he would… how can you tell, um… when you like someone?”

“Shintarou,” Mom says, and she halts in her humming, silent, expectant, but Midorima can’t bring himself to meet her eyes. The floor is clean tonight, interesting. “Have you found a special someone already?”

“I don’t know,” Midorima says. It’s a lie. Takao is different from other people. There’s no question that he’s special.

“Hmm,” Mom says and Midorima shuffles under her scrutiny; she can read right through him Midorima is sure. Still, she makes no comment on it. “Well, with your father, I found myself excited to see him everyday—even when I had to wake up at six for school I thought to myself, ‘it’s not so bad, because I get to see Midorima-kun today.’ Can you imagine, Shintarou? I didn’t even call him Hachirou at the time!” She chuckles but Midorima is momentarily struck by her words.

He certainly looks forward to basketball practice with Takao everyday and that’s… that’s practically the same thing. 

“Oh,” Mom says, “And I always wanted to hear what had to say, even the pointless thoughts and offhand comments. The times when he made me mad, I wasn’t actually mad, you know? I couldn’t stay angry at him, and I think he knew that too. He always tried to rile me up, still does. Ugh, that man.” 

But the expression on her face and the tone of her voice is enough to make Midorima blanch. He only wanted advice, not to listen to his Mom be gross and in love. Will he sound like that someday? Midorima is horrified at the thought. Not enough to stay away from Takao, but it’s a near thing.

“Shintarou,” Mom says and he turns around. There are laugh lines around her eyes and mouth that he’s never noticed before. He wonders if could look like that someday. “Don’t be stressed.”

“I’m,” Midorima says, “I’m not.”

“Oh my baby boy,” Mom says and Midorima’s being pulled into a hug. He’s long since outgrown his mother but she hooks her chin over his shoulder just fine. He leans into the comfort. “It’s written all over your face, ‘Is this love? Could it be love?’ I need you to know, Shintarou, that whatever you’re feeling right now will make sense and you don’t have to understand it right away either. Give yourself some time. I’ll be here whenever you need me.”

Midorima finds himself nodding along, the sincerity laced in her voice soothes his heart and he swallows. “Thank you,” he says. 

“Of course,” Mom replies, she pulls back from their hug, her hands resting on his shoulders, warm. Her green eyes search his own and Midorima wonders what exactly she’s looking for but then she’s speaking again, “But really, when do I get to meet this special person? Don’t think you can get away with sneaking her right by me!”

Midorima’s heart stutters at ‘her’ and his breathing picks up. “There is no _her_ ,” Midorima stresses haltingly, and it’s a testing of waters. Plausible deniability should his mother take the right meaning the wrong way. 

Mom blinks and tilts her head. “A ‘him’, then? That could work too… I’ve always wanted a son-in-law and lord knows your sister won’t give me one.”

“Mom!” Midorima shouts, horrified at her lackadaisical response. Her understanding is a relief, there’s no doubt, but did she just out his little sister to him?

And the other thing… 

A _son-in-law_? Just how far gone does she think he is?!

“Breathe, Shintarou!” Mom says and Midorima inhales sharply, he didn’t even realize he stopped breathing for a second there. “Really, I was just joking! Well, actually, I _would_ like to meet this boy, but you’re too young for marriage. I won’t allow it until you’re at least 25 and even then, that’s still pretty young. Hm… I should really make a rulebook,” she trails off with a hand rubbing her chin in thought. Midorima can only laugh, relieved beyond words. 

“I’ll,” Midorima says, and Mom pauses in her rule-making to look up at him, expectant. “I’ll bring Takao over sometime.”

“Oh, it’s _Takao_?” Mom asks excitedly, “That little point guard you’re always mentioning?” 

Midorima flushes but nods anyway. Does he really talk so much about him that his mother recognizes his name?

“Wow,” Mom gushes, she’s so _embarrassing_ , “Invite him for dinner, please, Shintarou! I must meet him right away!” 

“Invite who?” His little sister pokes her head through the door, probably wondering what the noise was. She was nosey like that.

“No one,” Midorima says scathingly.

“Takao-kun!” Mom says at the same time. 

“Oh I wanna meet Takao-san!” Ichika says, stepping fully into the kitchen and their father follows. Just what Midorima wanted, a whole family event. “Nii-chan talks about him all the time!”

“I do not!” Midorima flusters.

“That hawk-kid?” Dad asks cluelessly. Midorima can’t tell if he’s trying to make a joke but he’s annoyed either way.

His family shuffles around the kitchen, making room, talking loud and exuberant, Midorima tries to keep his scowling face straight but he lets go, sighing. It’s actually kind of nice, the way they fuss over him and his life. During middle school he had tried desperately to keep them away from his basketball exploits, at least the ones after their consecutive championships. Midorima likes to think they were a (mostly) normal team before, but even then he was rather tight-lipped.

So really, all his family knows about his basketball is that Midorima is fairly good at it. It’s kind of refreshing. 

He’d much rather keep the attention on his little sister, an upcoming volleyball prodigy. He knows she has her eyes on the Japanese Olympic team and she’s only in middle school. She’ll go far, he can feel it.

“Hey, hey, Shintarou-nii!” Ichika shouts, way too close to his ear and Midorima hisses. He loves her, of course, but he’s content to do so at a distance. Not that she cares. “What’s Takao’s favorite food? We should make it for dinner!”

“Kimchi,” Midorima answers immediately. Takao’s only mentioned it about a million times.

“Oh, kimchi? That’ll be fun to make!” Mom says, a happy grin on her face while Dad only nods, looking as helpless to her as Midorima feels. “Does he like it the traditional way? We could make the whole thing ourselves, like a family bonding! Well, Shintarou?” She presses.

“He likes the regular kind?” Midorima answers weaky. He didn’t know there was more than one way to make Kimchi. 

Mom laughs. “Oh, Shintarou,” she says, fondly, “I’ll just buy pre-made ingredients.”

“Thank you,” he says and tries to focus on whatever conversation his little sister’s just started instead of his suddenly clammy hands.

16

“I know you’re depressed and all, Shin-chan,” Takao says as his face pops into view above Midorima, “but there are better places to take a nap than on the ground, you know.” 

He wasn’t taking a nap, he was contemplating his life. Or his soon to be lacking thereof. Oha-Asa predicts a truly awful day for cancers and he couldn’t even find his lucky item for the day. Really, staying home, away from the dangers of highschool, and laying down in his backyard under the shade of their old oak tree is the safest he can be right now. 

He should’ve known Takao would search him out after not even a warning call, and clearly his parents were more than welcoming after that dinner meet. Typical.

“I have no reason to go on,” says Midorima and tilts his head away from Takao’s knowing eyes. 

“You’re cute, Shin-chan, but c’mon,” is all he hears before a force pulls him up with surprising strength and Midorima squawks indignantly. 

The most unfair thing about Takao is his unproportionate amount of strength for his rather lean build; maybe making him peddle all these months was a mistake.

Now upright, Midorima stares down at Takao, who only raises a defiant eyebrow. There’s a plush toy of a lemon in one hand and the other rests on his hip. Takao shoves the lemon at Midorima and he has no choice but to take it.

“This is…” Midorima trails off, the toy is soft and squishy under his touch. 

Takao smirks at him, but it’s not the mean one he showed Kuroko on the court, it’s his clever, self-satisfied one that shouldn’t be as endearing as it is. “Cancer’s lucky item. Thought you could use it,” he says, flippant. 

“Thank you,” Midorima coughs and pushes up his falling glasses. “Where did you find this?” He searched everywhere today, risking life and limb without anything to show for it. It’s a miracle he’s still alive.

“Oh you know,” Takao says, chuckling, rubbing the back of his head. His cheeks are a light pink. “That’s a funny story actually. My sister has so many stuffed animals so I just stole it from her room, she never had the guts to throw them out even now that she’s in university.”

“I’ll make sure to return this, then,” Midorima says gruffly.

Takao waves his arms furiously. “No, no, you don’t have to! She won’t miss it I promise! Please, keep it.” 

Midorima furrows his brow, he doesn’t want to be a thief. If he ever meets Takao’s sister, all he’ll be able to think about is that he stole her precious childhood toy. “I can’t,” he insists.

“Shin-chan, you always ruin the fun,” Takao says, with a sigh. “I didn’t take it from my sister… it’s—it’s mine and I’m giving it to you, alright? How embarrassing…”

In that case, his grip tightens on the lemon. He’ll never let go now.

“Why are you here,” asks Midorima, the more pressing matter now that his lucky item is well received.

“Interesting question,” Takao says. “Why are any of us here, I wonder. Do we, as human beings, need, or even _need_ , reason for—”

“Takao!” Midorima says, interrupts, because that’s another can of worms that they can open some other time that’s not right now, when Takao and Midorima should actually be at school. “Why are you here, _in my backyard_?”

“Oh,” says Takao, “because your mom let me in. Duh.”

It says something, Midorima thinks, that he doesn’t strangle Takao on the spot. _That's_ love—

 _Like_.

He meant like.

“You should be at school,” Midorima tells him. As much as Midorima appreciates the company, Takao’s grades need it. “Your grades need it.”

“Aw, worried about me?” Takao says, nudging him with his elbow. “Shimura-chan is taking notes for me so don’t mind. But anyway, you know what today is, right?”

“Friday?” Midorima asks.

Takao laughs. Midorima watches as he clutches his stomach with one hand and the other grabbing for purchase on Midorima’s arm to keep upright. His hand is warm. 

“No,” Takao says, composing himself slowly, though he chokes out giggles every few seconds. “I mean, yes, but. Today is Touou and Seirin’s match, remember?”

Instantly Midorima’s content mood takes a complete 180. “And what about it?” He bites out.

“We should go,” Takao says cheerfully and he’s either purposely ignoring Midorima’s obvious distaste or just that dense. With him, it’s a toss up; Takao’s hard to read like that. 

“No,” says Midorima. 

“C’mon, Shin-chan, we’ve got nothing else to do,” Takao needles and now he’s tugging on Midorima’s arm incessantly, like he can pull him towards the arena himself. 

Takao is strong, sure, but Midorima isn’t that easily moved.

“We have school,” says Midorima, a pointed glance to his wristwatch.

“You called out already,” Takao reminds him and continues with, “and I think I’ve come down with something… a case of basketball fever!” He presses a hand to his forehead dramatically and coughs loudly. 

Midorima has no choice but to relent. Takao made one good point. Only the first one, though.

“Fine,” Midorima says, his lips twitching. “But I’m not pedaling.”

Takao rolls his eyes. “What else is new, Shin-chan.”

17

Touou crushes the life out of Seirin as soon as Aomine is in play and though Midorima would not consider himself a particularly vindictive person, it’s nothing short of satisfying. 

Kagami and Kuroko and Seirin make for the locker room, their heads held low, eyes on the floor. Aomine and Touou stand proud but it’s indifferent, somehow. Like they expected nothing else and were proven right; Aomine looks _bored_.

If Seirin’s expressions had a euphoric effect on Midorima then Touou brought him crashing back to earth. Midorima had almost forgotten how frustrating Aomine is.

“Let’s go home, Takao,” Midorima says and turns away from the court. It’s a truly awful sight now that he thinks about it. 

“Sure, sure,” says Takao, without fuss. 

He leads them out to the concessions of the arena, stopping at certain stands to ooh and aah over merchandise, and Midorima watches him, permissive. They’ve got time, no school, and the sight of Takao getting excited over tiny basketball nicknacks is rather charming. 

There’s a hoop and basketball kendama toy that Takao seems to have his eye on in particular. He’d be good at it, Midorima thinks. The hand eye coordination required for ball in cup games would be easy for someone with Takao’s talents. Before he realizes, Midorima’s reaching for his wallet, fishing it from his pocket, and asking for the price in the same second.

The vendor smiles at him indulgently. “¥1600,” she says, which is absolutely ludicrous, unforgiving, highway robbery―but then Takao’s staring at him with wondrous eyes and Midorima decides _worth it_ and hands over the cash. 

“Shin-chan,” says Takao, and he almost sounds choked up. They’re walking away from the booth now, before Midorima can take a look at his weeping wallet and regret it, and Takao’s holding the hoop toy to his chest in a tight embrace. “Thanks.”

Midorima coughs and turns away, his face warm. “I only did it because you would have whined the whole way home. Bring your own money when you know there’ll be a shop next time!”

“I guess I should have,” Takao says with a laugh. “But the next time we won’t be in the stands, you know? We’ll be out there.” On the court he means.

“Of course we will,” says Midorima. He climbs into the rickshaw and cradles the toy gently in his grasp when Takao tells him he can’t steer the bike with one hand. “Let’s go home, Takao.”

18

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” Miyaji says, his expression severe, hands on his hips; he’s an imposing figure even with the 4 centimeters Midorima has over him.

“I’m not,” Midorima argues, even though he has no idea what they’re talking about. 

Miyagi's hand twitches and as if on cue, Kimura appears next to him, pineapple in hand. Midorima flinches backwards reflexively. Miyaji has no mercy on the court and leaves no survivors off the court. 

Miyaji purses his lips and raises his hand at Kimura, like a king relieving his knight. Kimura backs off but not without a suspicious glance towards Midorima, returning to where Ootsubo is teaching defensive moves to an enthusiastic Takao. It’s comical really, given that Ootsubo is really fucking _tall_ —not Murasakibara tall, obviously, because no one is—but he’s taller than Midorima and watching Takao try to defend is like a tabby cat hissing at a lion. Cute.

“ _That's_ what I’m talking about,” Miyaji says and Midorima’s jerked from his thoughts abruptly.

“I have no idea what you mean,” says Midorima.

Miyaji snorts. “Ootsubo!” he yells without a glance behind him. “First request!” Midorima watches, dismayed, at the thumbs up Ootsubo gives, even as he relentlessly pressures Takao.

“Let’s sit down,” Miyaji says, voice low, gesturing to the bench. Midorima follows him reluctantly. “So, you and Takao.”

“Me and Takao,” Midorima repeats, with a frown. 

Miyaji sneers. “I know you think you’re subtle but trust me, you’re _not_. It’s so obvious. You’re just lucky that Takao is dense as shit.” 

“Takao is not dense,” says Midorima, defensive. Takao’s smart as a whip when he wants to be, especially on the court.

“Uh, when it comes to your love life he sure as hell is,” Miyaji says, unimpressed.

Midorima chokes. “My―my love li―what? I don’t have a love life—”

“Well, clearly,” Miyaji interrupts pointedly. He tilts his head at the rest of the first string and Midorima follows his line of view to find Takao laughing at something Ootsubo said, the captain sighing and Kimura trying to hide his own chuckles by his side. “Oh, gross,” Miyaji says, “I didn’t want to see that mushy expression on your face ever again but here we are. Anyway, can you please do something about all this pining? It’s making me break out into hives.” 

“Perhaps you should see a doctor,” Midorima informs him.

“You wanna mouth off again, punk? Kimura has so many pineapples that he’s _begging_ me to use ‘em,” Miyaji growls. Midorima leans back, out of reach, and shakes his head rapidly. “That’s what I thought.” 

There’s a pause, where the two of them sit in silence, tense, watching the other three practice.

Miyaji knew, Midorima thinks. The whole team as well, he implied. And they don’t… care.

Well, they do, clearly, if Miyaji took the time to bring it up and complain. But they don’t find it weird and that’s―that’s relieving, to be honest. His team is kind. No pawns would serve their king in such a way, and maybe that’s for the best. It proves he’s not a king, an emperor, and they’re not his pawns. He may not have believed in his words when he said it, but he shouldn’t have called them so in the first place either. 

There’s a sudden weight on his shoulder Midorima is startled by and he turns to see Miyaji, eyes indecipherable.

“You know,” Miyaji says, his hand warm and solid on Midorima. “I can see the wheels turning in your head, but it’s really not a big deal. Just tell him.”

“I,” Midorima says. He’s been trying for a while now. He almost did after that dinner with his parents, then when they went to see Touou and Seirin, then _again_ when Takao invited him to that weird card game tournament that he’s always talking about. Even thought about telling him today while he stared at the back of his head in class. He didn’t have the guts. “It’s not that easy.” 

“It really _is_ that easy,” Miyaji says but he doesn’t press further than that. 

Silence falls over them again but it’s comfortable, calm, and Midorima takes the time to face forward, contemplative.

19

They tie with Seirin at the Winter Cup Final League and not to be dramatic but it’s _awful_.

They were supposed to win. Seirin has teamwork, bonds, and their Kuroko-Kagami tag team, whatever, but Midorima has _Takao_ and Shuutoku is finally connecting as a team and it’s the worst when it’s just _not enough_.

“Shin-chan,” Takao says, when it’s just the two of them left in the locker room. Their seniors had gone ahead to grab drinks from the vending machines, Takao had (sarcastically) praised them for being such good senpais and got a fruit to the head for it.

“What,” Midorima asks. He’s been wrapping and unwrapping the sports tape on his fingers rhythmically, it’s calming.

“It’s just one game, you know. There’s three more to play,” Takao says, his voice soft. When Midorima looks up he’s standing in front of him, hands playing with the zipper of his Shuutoku jacket. “We didn’t even lose.”

“But Seirin—” Midorima says, agitated.

“Didn’t beat us,” Takao interrupts him, now firm. “We tied.”

“Tied isn’t winning!” Midorima shouts and stands up abruptly. He’s panting, chest heaving with every breath, every bit of gross emotions swirling inside of him, as he stares down at Takao, who gapes. “I wanted to beat them! And I couldn’t!”

“ _We_ couldn’t,” Takao corrects, his jaw set, and just as fast as he got worked up, Midorima deflates, the fight leaving his body at those two words.

“We couldn’t,” Midorima repeats quietly. 

Takao steps closer and then he’s pulling Midorima forward, downwards, into a hug. Midorima is shocked still but Takao’s arms are wrapped around his shoulders and he can feel the soft puffs of his breathing on his neck. Slowly, Midorima returns the embrace.

Takao trembles in his grip suddenly and Midorima is startled for a second before realizing, relieved, that Takao is only shaking with laughter not tears. 

“You had me worried before the game,” Takao says but there’s a smile evident in his voice. “I’d never seen Shin-chan so scary and intense. But now, you really are just a teddy bear.”

“Shut up, Takao,” says Midorima, leaning further into Takao’s soft hair. 

20

“Kazu-nii!” Ichika screeches and that’s all the notice Midorima gets before Takao strolls into his living room like he owns the place.

“Icchan!” Takao says, just as loud and exuberant. Ichika jumps into his arms and giggles as he spins her around and around. 

Midorima watches from his seat in front of the coffee table, his homework spread out before him, and sighs. This scene has been becoming increasingly more commonplace and even his mom and dad look crestfallen on the days where Takao doesn’t knock on the door of the Midorima household. Midorima can relate but he scoffs at them on principle.

But either way, there’s a test tomorrow, Monday, and Midorima invited Takao to study at his house. Because he’s gracious like that.

“You’re two hours late,” Midorima says, once Takao detangles himself from Ichika and sits down next to him.

“Hello to you too, Shin-chan,” says Takao, unrepentant and grinning. “I may be late but I came prepared, look!”

He gestures to the backpack that Midorima didn’t see him come in with, and pulls out a few notebooks and an entirely too excessive amount of pencils. Midorima rolls his eyes, but really it’s satisfying to see Takao give his studies the tiniest bit of effort, even sarcastic as it is.

“For once,” Midorima says, bland. “And feel free to bring your supplies to every one of our sessions.”

“Now where’s the fun in that, Shin-chan,” Takao asks. “We don’t want you to fall into complacency, after all.”

“That’s an awfully big word for someone who got a 60 on his vocabulary test,” says Midorima. Somewhere behind him, he hears Ichika huff and stomp out of the room. He didn’t even realize she was still there.

“Shin-chan is so mean,” Takao puffs out his cheeks and it’s so cute that Midorima has to turn his head away in embarrassment. “That’s exactly why we’re studying!”

“Then let’s get to it,” says Midorima, more composed. He reaches for the notes scattered on the coffee table, watching as Takao shifts his legs underneath himself, he’s wearing shorts Midorima notices idly. 

Takao’s legs are lean and toned from basketball and his regular peddling. His shorts don’t even reach mid-thigh, leaving Midorima to stare at the parts uncovered, fascinated with the golden skin. Takao clears his throat suddenly and Midorima startles, his eyes stuttering to meet Takao’s.

“It’s not like Shin-chan to be so distracted,” Takao says slowly. “You must’ve thought something really interesting just now.” 

There’s the beginning of a crooked smile on his face and Midorima knows for sure Takao saw him, saw where his eyes were. And he’s teasing him.

Midorima looks away, back at his notes. He reads a line but retains none of the information, he does so again for a good minute or two before feeling Takao’s eyes attempting to burn a hole in the side of his head.

“What,” Midorima says, not looking up from the table. It’s taking all his willpower.

“Really, Shin-chan? Nothing?” Takao says, sounding disappointed. 

Midorima’s brain stutters, and he chokes on the breath he’s in the middle of taking—because that. That means his comment was intentional and if it was intentional then _that_ means— _that means_.

Takao’s leaning back, his palms on the floor, as he stares back at Midorima. His mouth is for once silent, but his eyes are loud. It’s as if at least one part of Takao must be speaking to Midorima at all times. If not with his voice then with an arm around his shoulder, if not with an arm around his shoulder then with a smirk, if not with a smirk then with his eyes half-lidded and blazing with emotion, and Midorima? Midorima hears it all crystal clear. 

“Takao calls _me_ rude,” Midorima murmurs. “Then he goes around teasing others. Double-standards.”

“Shin-chan is so cute when he tries to be funny,” Takao says fondly. The textbooks on the table are pushed aside within two seconds as Takao presses a hand to Midorima’s face, guiding him towards himself. 

There’s a brief moment where Midorima can only stare at Takao, captivated by the blue of his eyes, the way his bangs fall just the tiniest bit above his cheeks, the way his wide nose and equally wide smile makes him look almost like an otter, it’s cute, he’s cute. Midorima leans his cheek into Takao’s hand, the warmth seeping into his very soul and Midorima takes a breath. 

“Do I have to do everything around here?” says Midorima. He supposes even someone like Takao has his shy moments, but even then, the hand on his face remains. He couldn’t possibly be reading this wrong.

Midorima tilts his head, tries to find the right angle, and presses his lips to Takao’s wrist. Takao lets out a shuddering sigh, Midorima doesn’t let him lose eye contact.

“Shin-chan,” Takao says, his voice near whisper and Midorima watches Takao’s teeth sinking into his bottom lip, fascinated. “Are we… can we…?”

“Kiss me,” Midorima says, he’s used up all his patience. Takao’s fumbling words are satisfying but Midorima imagines the way their mouths could fit together would be even more so.

“If you insist, Shin-chan,” says Takao, warm voice caressing that damn nickname, and Midorima surges forward, bumping their noses together slightly before finding his target. 

That smirk tastes even better than it looks.

Takao’s other hand reaches up to rest on the back of Midorima’s neck and Midorima takes the opportunity to grab at Takao’s hip, tug him closer and his eyes shut while their mouths glide together. The movement of their lips is slow, hesitant, but Midorima’s heart is beating so fast he thinks it may burst out of chest and the contrast makes him dizzy in the best possible way.

Takao’s making these little noises, sighing here and there, and Midorima wants to listen forever. He vows to try out every single angle he can to find out which sound he’ll make next. Midorima could kiss Takao every second of the day. Would love to, actually. He should really make a schedule.

It’s too soon when they part, their heavy breathing fills the room. Midorima’s mind is blank, his eyes tunnel-visioned on Takao only. His cheeks are dusted pink and the tips of his ears are red, there’s a blinding smile on his face like he just can’t help it. Midorima feels his own lips twitch upwards in response.

“I like you,” Midorima says, before he can even think about it. 

Takao blinks. “I like you too,” he says.

Midorima lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, his chest warm and fuzzy. He turns to the coffee table, pushing the textbooks back to their original position calmly and then says, “Good.”

“That’s it?” asks Takao. “‘Good’? No ‘thank god I was so worried you wouldn’t like me back’?”

“Well, you _were_ kissing me back,” Midorima points out, then frowns as he notices a small mistake in problem twelve. He erases the writing to correct it. “It felt very mutual. I assumed that meant you like me back.”

“I don’t like Shin-chan’s tone,” says Takao.

“You don’t like anyone’s tone when they prove you wrong,” Midorima says and he watches as Takao scribbles some dorky heart on his notebook instead of the exercises he needs to study.

“We just kissed and now I’m being _attacked_ , what kind of messed up, cruel world do we live in—”

“Shut _up_ , Takao,” says Midorima and forgets the homework to lean in for another kiss.

Takao shuts up.

20.5

(“Have you ever thought about making a super accurate pass?” Midorima asks. It’s some time after practice, he and Takao had stayed late and waved off their seniors’ concerns with a promise of light exercises and stretches. It didn’t last long.

“Are you saying my passes aren’t super accurate usually?” Takao retorts but he has an easy-going smile, patient.

“No, no,” Midorima says, “I mean _yes_ , but what I mean is—do you think you could send the ball to me while I’m in my shooting form?”

Takao tilts his head and Midorima can see the wheels turning. “Almost like a fake-out, but you actually have the ball in the end? Hmm that doesn’t sound easy,” he says, a hand rubbing his chin. Then he smiles. “I do know one thing though, if anyone could do it, it’d be us.”

“You’re right, of course,” but even Midorima’s confidence doesn’t keep the warmth off his cheeks. “Shall we?”)

21

“Higher, Takao!” Midorima says, when the basketball hits his elbow instead of landing in his palm. He’s going to have so many bruises by the end of this. 

“I’m trying,” Takao says, panting, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “Your form is the same every time but still, I…”

“You can do this,” Midorima interrupts him, his voice firm and determined. He’s never believed in a sentence as much as that one.

Takao smirks weakly. “ _We_ can do this,” he corrects.

“We can do this,” Midorima repeats. 

And they’ll have to. If Shuutoku wants to win the Winter Cup, they have to put in the hard-work. Midorima’s seen Ootsubo, Miyaji, and Kimura sharing that same idea. Ootsubo brushing up his defense, Miyaji practicing his dunks over and over, and Kimura dribbling around targets to end in a layup. Now it’s time for the underclassmen to show up.

The first round is in a week, and they get a few days in between matches after that. The first few games will be against some no name high schools, Midorima can admire the perseverance of a team without a miracle but really, they have no chance. What Midorima is actually worried about is the placement of Rakuzan, Akashi, in the bracket. When Shuutoku wins the quarter finals, they’ll be facing Akashi and his Emperor Eye next, and Midorima’s heart clenches involuntarily. He blinks for a second and all he can see Akashi towering over an opposing player, wicked smile on his face as he orders the miracles to crush the team… 

Midorima shakes his head, it’s no use to keep his head in the past. What’s done is done. All he can do is look forward, Takao by his side. 

And Takao is, suddenly, by his side.

“Shin-chan,” he says, drawing out the ‘chan’. He sounds as if he’s been saying it for a while now, Midorima is embarrassed. “Where did you go?”

“I’ve been here the entire time,” Midorima says, flustered, “Waiting for you to pass!”

“Such a liar,” says Takao, tutting, and placing his hands on his hips. “Shin-chan, it’s really no use in being so tall if your head’s always in the clouds!”

Midorima huffs. “I’m not tall you’re just really short!” And leans downwards into Takao’s face to prove it.

“I’m average height, you giant!” Takao shrieks, pushing him and making him stumble backwards. Midorima pinwheels a bit but he’s quick to recover and grab at Takao’s flailing wrists.

“Look how small you are,” Midorima coos, admiring the way his hands enfold Takao’s arms. He’s never felt like this before, it’s a little exhilarating.

“C-creepy,” stutters Takao but he doesn’t move away, if anything he leans closer, until their noses almost touch and they’re sharing the same breath. “Shin-chan’s into the weirdest things.”

“Shut up, Takao,” Midorima says, his eyes darting down to Takao’s lips momentarily.

But before Midorima can kiss him, the door to the gym crashes open and Midorima flings himself away from Takao as if burned.

“I knew it!” Miyaji screams as he stalks onto the court, pausing to stand in front of the both of them. Ootsubo and Kimura lurk behind him, looking rather embarrassed. “I told you,” Miyaji continues, spinning around briefly to point at the other two seniors and then back at Midorima himself. “And I especially told _you_.”

“Senpai,” says Midorima, carefully ignoring Takao’s stare, “Why are you still here?”

Miyaji snorts, crossing his arms with his hip cocked. “After our talk, you two started acting weird so I had to make sure. And anyway, you always stay after practice, it was too easy.” 

Midorima looks at him.

“I tried to stop him,” Ootsubo adds, raising his hand valiantly. 

“I just like drama,” Kimura confesses.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Miyaji says, waving a hand violently. “So when were you gonna tell us, huh, punks?”

Midorima wants to take a nap for a thousand years. This is not a conversation he wants with his seniors, this is not a conversation he wants ever, in fact. 

“Senpai,” Takao says slowly, “Are you saying you already… knew?” And then there’s that. 

“Who do you think gave our little old Midorima-kun the push to confess?” Miyaji smirks, all preening and self-satisfied. Midorima glares.

Takao laughs and Midorima glares harder. “Shin-chan went to our seniors for help? Cute.”

“I’m not cute,” Midorima snarls. He pushes up his glasses and turns away from his annoying, nosy teammates.

“I don’t know,” says Kimura, his voice sly. “All those stares you’d send Takao when you thought he wasn’t looking were pretty adorable.”

“Not just Midorima-kun, though,” Ootsubo says thoughtfully, “Takao-kun carries extra tape in his bag for Midorima-kun, I’ve seen it.”

“Not to mention that he carts him everywhere,” Kimura adds.

“Takao is gone on Midorima, too,” Miyaji says, “A regular Tanabata you both are. Total star-crossed lovers.” 

Midorima’s face must be as red as a tomato by now, and his arms tremble with embarrassment. He goes to open his mouth, to maybe politely refute Miyaji, but Takao beats him there.

“Right?” he says, laughing. “Only I get to see him more than once a year, lucky~” Shameless, he’s absolutely shameless.

“Really, though,” Ootsubo chimes in, giving Midorima a semblance of relief, a brief respite from the horrible banter that is the Takao-Miyaji show. “I’m proud of you two.” He smiles at them kindly, his patented ‘captain aura’ returning, but then he suddenly lowers his voice, his expression firm, “But if anyone tries to mess with you…”

“Just let us know, okay?” Kimura finishes for him, he’s grinning but there’s an edge of menace in it. Midorima shivers even though it’s not aimed at him. Beside him, Miyaji cracks his knuckles innocently. Midorima and Takao nod profusely. 

“Thank you,” Midorima says quietly. He locks eyes with each of his senpai for the first time this whole conversation, he finds nothing but sincerity and fierce protectiveness. Midorima swallows but it’s a difficult thing.

Takao threads their fingers together, as if he could read Midorima’s uncomfortableness, and knowing him he probably did. Midorima is grateful.

“Stop being so cute together dammit,” Miyaji whines, “ugh I want a girlfriend.”

“You shouldn’t get a girlfriend just because you ‘want one’,” Ootsubo chides. He crosses his arms and closes his eyes like a wise old man parting wisdom. “It should build slowly, like finding a missing puzzle piece that you didn’t know you needed in order to complete it.”

“You’re talking out of your ass,” Miyaji accuses.

“Someone without a girlfriend would think so,” Kimura says loftily, defending Ootsubo.

“Kimura, you don’t have a girlfriend either!” Miyaji says.

“But at least I’ve had one before,” Kimura retorts, unfazed.

Miyaji growls but before he can cuss Kimura out, Takao stands in the middle of them, his arms raised in peace. “Miyaji-senpai, I’m sure you’ll find a girlfriend some day. But most importantly, thank you all for your support. It means a lot to me and Shin-chan.” Takao bows at a ninety degree angle, it’s the most polite Midorima’s ever seen him. 

Miyaji backs down, his eyes soften and he nods. He doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t need to.

“We’re a team,” Ootsubo says, in his place. He looks to Takao for a second before resting his gaze upon Midorima. And Midorima’s soul is bared underneath it. “A team has each other’s backs. Always.”

“There’s no other people I’d rather be annoyed by,” says Kimura, a warm smile on his face.

Midorima says it one more time, past the tightness of his throat, “Thank you.”

22

 _I'm gay_ , Midorima types and hits the send button before he can talk himself out of it. 

There’s a moment when Midorima realizes what he’s done. His hands shake and the grip on his phone loosens until he drops it all together. Midorima stands, frozen in place were it not for the tremors wracking his body. His breath picks up and his chest heaves. Mouth dry, he looks around his room—water, he needs, he should find—there’s a bottle laying innocently on his night stand. Midorima moves his heavy limbs, slow and—trying for—steady.

It takes more than a second for his shaky hands to unscrew the cap but then Midorima’s gulping down the water until it’s empty. It doesn’t help. The tips of his fingers go numb and tingly and Midorima doesn’t even know what’s happening anymore just that he wants it to _stop_.

He’s against the wall, leaning back like he could sink into it if he tried but the wall pushes back, hard and unforgiving, digging into his spine. In a way, the pain grounds him, forcing him to clear his mind, distract his dizzy head and focus on the hurt.

He’s trying, struggling, to calm down when his phone buzzes innocently. Midorima glances at it, frightened but possessed with curiosity, and with shaky hands, picks it up. 

_Midorimacchi is very brave_ , is the reply. His eyes roam over the sentence, reading over and over until a new text comes in. _I'm really happy you told me! It means a lot that Midorimacchi trusts me with something so serious to him. We're good friends, aren't we, Midorimacchi?_

 _Shut up, Kise_ , Midorima writes back but his breathing is calmed, the trembling of hands lessen and he’s almost fine. 

_But we're having a moment :(((!!!!_ is what Kise sends back. Midorima huffs to himself but really he’s relieved to see Kise’s stupid emojis and his whiny texts. He doesn’t say anything back but it’s still familiar, calming.

The bed squeaks when Midorima lays down, staring at the ceiling. He turns on the radio by his pillow and lets Oha-Asa predict tomorrow’s horoscope in the background. He feels light, content, his eyes slide shut for a second before—

There’s another buzz from his phone and Midorima furrows his eyebrows. It’s much later than Kise would normally doubletext. 

_Midorimacchi_ , it says. That’s _all_ it says and Midorima frowns. There’s the little ellipsis that show someone’s typing but they disappear and reappear rhythmically, like Kise doesn’t know how to word his text.

Midorima debates saying anything or letting Kise gather his thoughts. He wants Kise to know he’s listening… _Yes?_ he writes.

Kise’s response is fast. _Can I tell you something too? Something also personal?_

The thing is—look.

Midorima would never admit this—ever—but he c-cares—er, worries for Kise. He enjoys Kise’s texts, and he’s the only one of the GoM to remain in constant contact with him. Kise is, as embarrassing as it sounds, very important to him.

So Midorima is much too quick to send, _what a stupid question. Of course you can, idiot._

What? He has a reputation.

 _I'm not really into girls either_ , writes Kise. Before Midorima can even think up something to say Kise sends another text. _I’m not super into anyone, really. Or um, not in the sexy way at least. I’d like to hold hands or maybe even kiss someone but when Aominecchi would go on about those magazines of his I didn’t like it. Is that weird? I’m pretty weird actually, haha. Who shouldn’t want sex? Um, just forget I said anything ok, Midorimacchi?_ ^^ 

It’s past midnight, Midorima has school tomorrow. Normally, he’d be asleep by now—hell, he’d be asleep 2 hours ago.

He kept himself up with his anxious thoughts, his family knew, his teammates knew, but there were a few more people Midorima wanted to know. Kise was an impulse, Midorima hadn’t even bothered looking up Murasakibara, Akashi, or Aomine’s numbers. His fingers had paused over Kuroko and then again on Momoi, but it was Kise he decided on in the end.

And for Kise, maybe it was Midorima that he decided on in the end, too. The thought fills him with more emotion than he previously thought possible. If his eyes are little damp, it’s no one’s business but his own.

 _Kise is not weird_ Midorima types. _Well, not for not wanting to bang anyone at least_.

 _Midorimacchi is too crude!_ Kise says but Midorima is too busy writing his next line to care.

 _I'm glad you told me_ Midorima pauses, he wants to add more, something uplifting or kind or reassuring but everything he thinks of is lame. He’s not cut out for comforting. He’ll try though. _But really, you should know Kise is a good friend of mine. No one is allowed to call him weird except me._

 _Midorimacchi T~T,_ texts Kise, _thank you._

Midorima turns off the light on his night stand, pulls his covers over him and responds, _go to bed, stupid._

23

They beat Ōnita High, their first round opponent, and the locker room is warm with elation. It’s sweaty, dirty, and smells absolutely awful, but the mood is so different from the Seirin game that Midorima can’t bring himself to be annoyed by it. Ootsubo gives him a knowing look and he’s about to say something before—

“Kazunari-chan!” a sudden shout.

Heads swivel to see the owner of the unfamiliar voice and, sitting on the bench beside Midorima, Takao lets out a squeal. He rushes to the doorway, where a dark-haired girl stands, grinning. 

“Seiko-nee-chan!” Takao says, throwing his arms around her shoulders in a hug. The girl returns the embrace and her grip looks so tight that Midorima squirms uneasily, wondering if he should save Takao from the girl or not.

Takao breaks off first but the grin on his face doesn’t falter, and now that Midorima can see her, she has the same exact grin. There’s two of them, he thinks, gaping.

“Shin-chan, senpai!” Takao says, dragging the girl further into the locker room. “This is Seiko, my big sister! Nee-chan, these are my teammates,” he lists them one by one but when he reaches Midorima, Seiko stares at him a little harder than the others and Midorima shivers under her rather intimidating gaze.

“안녕하세요—oops” Seiko says, halfway into a bow before she rises, rubbing the back of her neck, and just like that, the pressure is gone. “Sorry, I’ve been in Korea for too long. It’s nice to meet you all, Kazunari-chan talks about all of you. A lot.”

Miyaji narrows his eyes at Takao, while Ootsubo merely chuckles. “All good things I hope,” he says.

“Mostly,” Seiko says, wearing a smirk while Takao squawks indignantly.

“By the way,” Kimura says over the noise. “Did you say Korea?”

“Yeah!” Takao chimes in. “Nee-chan goes to university in Seoul!”

Seiko rubs the back of her neck again, a flush climbing her face, and Midorima knows the feeling well. It’s both embarrassing and pleasant when Takao brags about him.

“It’s true,” she confirms and Kimura looks suddenly very interested. 

“You must be very smart,” he says. Midorima furrows his eyebrows at the comment. Something’s not right here.

Seiko replies easily, cheerfully, “I try.” 

“Really though,” Kimura insists, “Going to another country, learning another language. It’s impressive.”

Seiko flips her hair and tucks the rest behind her ear. “I’m not one to back away from a challenge. I prefer diving in.” There’s intense eye contact with her and Kimura.

“Good to know,” he says.

“Wait—what,” says Takao, looking between his sister and Kimura, gaping. Midorima brings his palm to his head.

“Who knew Kimura was so smooth,” Miyaji murmurs, and he doesn’t even sound mad about it. That’s how Midorima knows this is a nightmare. 

“누나,” Takao whines and that’s when Seiko drops the flirty expression, her eyes seeking Takao only.

“야, 동생,” says Seiko and that’s all Midorima can make out before she and Takao start speaking rapid fire Korean. Midorima exchanges glances with his seniors, who are just as baffled as him.

Like a trance, Midorima can only watch the Takao siblings and their excited conversation. Takao spits out foreign syllables slower than he would speaking Japanese, or maybe they just need less words, Midorima wouldn’t know. 

His gaze dips to Takao’s mouth and Midorima thinks Korean suits him better. There’s a lot more sounds that require him to pout his lips and against his will, heat rises on Midorima’s cheeks.

“네, Shin-chan?” Takao says, turning towards him, expectant. As if Midorima could answer whatever he just asked.

“일본어로, 일성아,” Seiko says, a fond smile on her lips.

“I was just saying,” Takao starts, but not before sticking his tongue out at her. He turns to Midorima. “Shin-chan is our genius ace and he’s leading us to victory, right, Shin-chan?” 

“What is Ootsubo, chopped liver?” Miyaji says and Midorima knows Miyaji’s right but there’s just something about the trust in Takao’s eyes that has his own refute dying on his tongue.

“We all do our part,” Ootsubo says peacefully and it’s really special, Midorima thinks, the way he can look so calm against the tight grip he has on Miyaji's shoulder to keep him from jumping Takao.

Kimura laughs lightly, edging closer to Seiko, who’s watching the scene amusedly, telling her, “I don’t know how much Takao has told you, but you should know that I'm really good with my—”

“God, Kimura, keep it in your pants!” Miyaji snarls, turning away from Takao and shaking out of Ootsubo’s grip. 

Kimura blinks. “I was going to say _cooking_ , don’t look at me like that.” Seiko starts giggling and nobody but Midorima seems to hear.

“‘ _I'm really good with my cooking_ ,’” Miyaji mocks, “that doesn’t even make sense, you idiot.”

Midorima lets their arguing fade into the background as he seeks out Seiko, still in the doorway, still staring at the way Takao makes some comment to Ootsubo that has him patting his hair, the way Miyaji and Kimura talk loudly over each other, eventually missing the whole point of the argument to be angry about something completely different.

“You all are so… excited,” Seiko says, a greeting. “Is it like this a lot? Kazu-chan likes to exaggerate but…”

“It’s like this every day,” Midorima tells her, because it’s the truth, and after silence falls over them for a good minute, “Takao is a good… friend of mine,” he adds carefully, he wants her to know she can trust him, catching her eyes, because he can see how warm her gaze is when it rests on Takao.

Seiko is quiet for a moment and Midorima can see so much of Takao in her. Or maybe it’s so much of Seiko in Takao. Their boisterous exterior, their thoughtful and observant interior. 

“He told me, you know,” she says. Midorima’s fingers flex in his jacket’s pockets. He knows. He stays silent. “I kind of watched it happen if you can believe it. He’s my precious baby brother who can’t keep his mouth shut and we talk. A lot.”

Midorima nods. It makes sense. 

“To be honest,” Seiko says, and huffs out through a laugh, “I felt like I knew you before I even met you and now that we’ve met in person I know for sure—you’ll be good for each other.”

Midorima’s heart flutters. “I’ll try my best,” he says gruffly. Takao deserves the best.

“That’s all I ask,” says Seiko, a knowing smile on her face and relief rushes through Midorima.

23.5

(“You never told me you speak Korean,” Midorima says, leaning back in his chair, he and Takao huddled around his desk for lunch. The bento his mother made tastes good. Takao thinks so too.

“My mom taught me,” says Takao, the words muffled around the rice in his mouth. Midorima crinkles his nose at his (lack of) manners. “She’s from Korea originally but she came to Japan and met my father and they ended up having Seiko-nee and me.” He pauses, head ducking a bit, “My, uh, my father isn’t really in the picture anymore. We don’t like to bring him up.”

“Oh,” says Midorima, awkwardly. 

“Yeah,” Takao says, waving him off. “I mean, I was just a little kid when he left so I don’t really remember him, but my mom and Seiko do. It’s harder for them.”

Takao shrugs, unbothered, but there’s still a certain stiffness in his shoulders that doesn’t escape Midorima’s notice. He glances around the room, glad they seem to be the only ones eating lunch inside, and reaches out to Takao’s hands, intertwining them with his own. Takao looks up at him, smiling softly.

“Seriously, Shin-chan,” Takao says. “I’m fine.”

“Liar,” says Midorima, studying the shape of Takao’s lips closely, the way his eyes don’t crinkle at the edge, how his smile starts to droop. 

Takao sighs, Midorima waits patiently, and in a move he would never admit out loud, squeezes Takao’s hands comfortingly.

“You’re gonna think I’m an awful person,” Takao says and he turns to the window, glaring outside sullenly. Midorima pulls him back. 

“I could never,” says Midorima. Midorima never even hated him when they first met, annoying and aggravating as he was. 

Takao stares at him, his eyes deep and searching, Midorima holds his gaze unflinching. Eventually, it must be enough for Takao because he sighs and opens his mouth.

“I’m kind of glad my father left,” he says, and it’s so quiet Midorima night not have heard him at all were they not sitting so close. “I know I said I don’t really remember him but I do remember the way Mom always looked a little sad when he was around, and how often they would argue. But then after he left, my mom started teaching us Korean. She always looked so proud when we pronounced a word right.”

Midorima stays silent, processing. Takao isn’t finished.

“I have a feeling that if my father stayed he wouldn’t have allowed us to learn Korean,” Takao says. His expression hardens. “He was always so weird about Mom’s heritage and stuff like that. Didn’t even want to eat Kimchi for dinner! Can you believe that? How insecure can one guy be?”

Takao’s favorite food is Kimchi. He’s said so about a million times now. Midorima’s insides twist uncomfortably at the implication, he tries not to let it show. “He’s an idiot,” Midorima says. 

“Right?” Takao snorts, aggrieved. “But even then Seiko-nee and Mom feel guilty. As if someone like that is worth getting upset over!”

It sounds like more than Seiko and their mother feel guilty. “It’s okay to be upset,” Midorima says, and wonders exactly where that came from, but once he starts he can’t stop himself, “It doesn’t matter if you tell yourself you shouldn’t, if you want to be upset then let yourself be upset.”

Takao whips his head around to Midorima, a startled expression on his face. “Shin-chan,” he says, his voice a little shaky, but there’s a small smile playing on his lips, “when did you become so reassuring?”

Midorima makes a face. “When did you learn the word ‘reassuring’,” he asks. 

Takao sputters out a laugh, like it’s forced out of him unwillingly. Midorima preens, pushing his glasses up and taking a bite of the bento they’d forgotten in conversation. The school bell rings, reminding the both of them of the classroom they’re currently in. Their classmates file in soon after, giggles and whispers fill the room and nobody pays any attention to the way Midorima’s made his home on Takao’s desk, the way the bento between them is only half-eaten, the way Takao's eyes are slightly red around the edges. 

Takao lets out one more chuckle before he’s telling Midorima to turn around, that Akiyama-sensei’ll get angry, and shoving his shoulder gently. Midorima turns and thinks Akiyama-sensei is a lot less interesting to listen to.)

24

A strong _something_ slams into Midorima’s face and for a split second, Midorima feels numb.

He’s sort of floaty, like he has all the time in the world. It doesn’t last long, and the back of his head is forcibly reminded of the existence of gravity. There lays Midorima, on the cold ground, winded, confused and aching. 

“ _Shin-chan,_ ” a stricken voice says and then Takao’s face appears in Midorima’s line of view, and then a second Takao, a little further on the right. “Oh my gods, Shin-chan, are you okay?!”

Midorima blinks, and then again, and tries once more and thankfully that other Takao disappears and he’s left with just the one. Midorima is grateful, he doesn’t know if could handle more than one Takao. 

Takao’s staring down at him, the weight of his hands on Midorima’s biceps are comforting, warm. His eyes are suspiciously misty. Midorima furrows his brows, can’t let that continue.

“I’m fine,” he says. He pushes himself onto his elbows, or tries, his head gets too dizzy, he’s falling back, but Takao’s there to catch him. Midorima amends, “I’ll be fine.” 

Takao grins wryly, upside down, because Midorima finally realizes his head is resting on Takao’s lap. Slender fingers glide through his hair and Midorima lets his eyes shut, but a hand slaps his cheeks, startling him awake. “Takao,” he says, “what—” 

“You can’t go to sleep, Shin-chan,” Takao says, urgency clear in his voice. “I’m checking—your head, you might—”

It’s unnatural for Takao to stutter his words, Midorima comes to his senses the best he can. He pushes off the ground, this time he makes it to a sitting position, crisscross. Takao watches him as he does so, his arms outstretched and ready. Midorima gives a reassuring smile, Takao looks even more distraught.

“Are you dizzy, Shin-chan?” Takao asks immediately. “Do you need to puke? Do you know where we are? Do you know what we were doing just now? How many fingers am I holding up?” 

Midorima’s head whirls, but only because of the fast-paced questions, he actually does feel fine. He’s not a liar. Takao, meanwhile, leans in close, worried. 

Right, the question.

“I don’t know,” says Midorima, Takao’s body is kinda blurry as a whole, now that he thinks about. He squints at what he assumes is Takao’s arm. No, he really can’t find any fingers. 

Takao lets out a distressed babble. “Oh fuck. Oh shit,” says Takao, with feeling. “Okay, don’t panic.” It’s very unclear to Midorima whether he’s talking to himself or to Midorima. Maybe both. He’s not too bothered trying to figure it out, Midorima’s still reeling from the shock of hearing Takao swear.

“Wait, wait, I remember—I remember!” Takao says. “I need to check your eyes, give me your face, quick, Shin-chan!”

But he’s grabbing at Midorima’s cheeks before he can even begin to move. Takao comes into view in an instant and Midorima suddenly sees him crystal clear. The nervous bite of his bottom lip, the worried set of his eyebrows, the single focus stare of his eyes. That’s the part that reaches Midorima; an unfortunate side effect of the hawkeye gives Takao a far off look, like he has to process everything before turning to the thing in front of him, it’s involuntary. But now, Takao meets his eyes head-on, determined. A blush works its way onto Midorima’s cheeks the longer Takao stays up close. Finally, when Midorima thinks his head might burst into flames, Takao leans back. 

“Your pupils are the same size,” he declares, breathing out. Midorima tilts his head as Takao gets blurrier, resting back on his palms. “I don’t think you have a concussion, but… how come you can’t count my fingers?” Takao mumbles the last part, and the Takao-shaped blob shifts, but Midorima is too busy wondering the same thing.

Midorima pushes his glasses up—or he would if he were _wearing them._ Love really does make you dumb.

“My,” says Midorima, and he has to build up the courage to grit out, “My glasses—I need my glasses.” 

Takao stops in tracks so suddenly Midorima isn’t sure he’s still breathing. “ _We're so stupid_ ,” he wails. The Takao-shaped blob stands up and flits around as Midorima watches, sighing to himself. 

All he wanted to do was perfect the super-accurate pass with Takao. Unlike the first time, Takao wasn’t aiming too low anymore.

“Ha, found it!” says Takao and then he’s placing his glasses on Midorima, gently. Everything is much clearer. For instance, the guilt painting Takao’s expression. 

“Come here,” grumbles Midorima, pulling him down into a hug. Takao’s tiny enough that he can wrap him up in his arms and seat him comfortably in his lap. 

Takao remains stiff in his grasp. “I’m so sorry, Shin-chan,” he sniffles, his face hidden where’s it’s pressed into Midorima’s chest.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, idiot,” says Midorima. He rubs Takao’s back rhythmically, calmingly. 

“I _hurt_ you,” Takao says, muffled. “I threw a ball in your _face_. And you _fell_.”

Midorima’s been hurt by worse than a basketball to the face, and most of the time not even physically. Is it weird to call this a refreshing change of pace? He doesn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea. 

“Accidents happen,” Midorima tells him. When did he become so forgiving, is he really this gone on Takao? He doesn’t want the answer to that. “But if you really are sorry then you can make it up to me by hugging me back.”

Takao melts at his words, his arms coming up around Midorima’s neck, his thighs on either side of Midorima’s waist. “Shin-chan is so cute,” Takao sobs into his ear. 

Takao’s lucky he’s cute too, Midorima doesn’t let just anyone make a snotty mess on his t-shirt. 

25

“Midorima-kun,” says Kuroko. He’s got Kagami with him, standing at his back as always, Midorima notes with distaste. “You don’t have a game today.”

An astute observation. Midorima came to the arena to watch the second round games, Kaijou, Seirin, and Yousen were all playing today. Shuutoku and Rakuzan had their game, separate games, scheduled for tomorrow.

“Research,” Midorima mumbles out. Really he’s looking for a blond head in the crowd, or even a purple one, and wondering if Aomine and Momoi would show their faces after Touou’s first round exit.

“Say,” Kagami speaks up, Midorima gives him the barest of attention in favor of giving Kuroko a glance over. He looks healthy and, Midorima’s jaw clenches, happy. Seirin remains a good look on him. “Where’s your shadow, um—” 

“Kazunari-kun,” Kuroko provides smoothly. Midorima is shocked out of his assessment.

“Kazunari-kun?” he repeats, latching onto the word immediately.

“T-takao-kun,” Kuroko corrects, embarrassment edging his tone. He takes a peek at Kagami, who just looks confused. Midorima watches the exchange wordlessly. “I meant—Takao-kun.”

“Wait,” Kagami says, “You call that Takao guy by his first name? Why?”

Yeah, that’s what Midorima would like to know.

Kuroko gulps and glances between the two of them uneasily. Midorima blinks. He’s never seen Kuroko so flustered. Not even that time when Aomine dared Murasakibara to let Kuroko sit on the basketball hoop and then again when he fell through the net—calm the whole way down. Midorima shivers just thinking about it. 

“We text,” Kuroko says, trying to compose himself. “Takao-kun is very… personable.”

“But how did you get his number?” Kagami presses and those giant eyebrows of his are raised so comically that if Midorima was Takao he’d be on the floor already.

Kuroko looks shifty again, squirming slightly in place. It’s really not helping his case. “After our first match, Takao-kun wanted to exchange numbers. He was rather pushy about it but I was interested too so I agreed.”

“Pushy?” Kagami says. It’s a valid question, Kuroko isn’t one to be pressured so easily.

“He cornered me in the bathroom and whined until I said yes,” Kuroko explains further.

Kagami turns to Midorima.

“Takao’s like that,” Midorima tells him. 

“So I’ve learned,” says Kuroko and it falls awkwardly silent after that. He’s never been the best conversationalist and neither has Kuroko. 

Kagami glances between them and the bathroom door, like he’d run back inside given the tiniest of chances, and Kuroko scratches his cheek absently. Midorima debates walking away. He doesn’t know which would be more awkward, staying or leaving, but he’s not sure he really cares anyway.

“Midorima-kun,” Kuroko says, his voice light, and when Midorima meets them his eyes are anything but. Midorima swallows. “I’m glad you came.”

“I didn’t come for you,” Midorima asserts. He pushes up his glasses and looks away. The tiles of the wall are some off-white color, somewhere between yellow and gray. It’s gross, they should really repaint it. 

Kuroko chuckles, a soft, quiet sound, but there all the same. “Just when I think Midorima-kun has changed, he pulls out another familiar line.” 

Kagami makes a choking noise somewhere to the left and Midorima still doesn’t dare look at them.

“I don’t have lines,” he says. He can’t be that predictable. “And anyway what do you mean I’ve changed?”

“I mean,” Kuroko says, his tone carefully neutral, Midorima knows it’s specifically crafted to make him calm but knowing that only makes him pissed. When he turns back to face them Kagami is gone, likely retreated to the bathroom. Lucky him. “A while ago, Midorima-kun told Kise how his eyes looked different. I see that in Midorima-kun too.”

“My-my eyes?” Midorima asks, taken aback. He makes eye contact with Kuroko, he doesn’t know why. The shock of hearing such a sentence, the confusion, he quickly glances away again. It’s suddenly too much.

“Your eyes are happy,” Kuroko says and Midorima startles. “I can see it. And somehow you seem… content. I can’t remember the last time I saw you this way.”

Midorima struggles, in a way, to make his mouth move. _I've changed, you're right_ , he wants to say. He remembers the look on Kuroko’s face when he told him long ago that he’s not about to change. The disappointment on his and Kise’s and even Kagami’s faces.

He shies under the weight of his words—seems like something he’s been doing for years now. Midorima clenches his jaw and his teeth grind together uncomfortably, it’s not anger, or at least not anger aimed at Kuroko. 

“What am I supposed to say to that,” Midorima asks him, quiet. 

“You don’t have to have to say anything,” Kuroko says, a smile on his face. “Just an observation.”

Midorima watches him for a second. Kuroko is so small, smaller than Takao—who’s personality makes him even ten times bigger—he looks frail at times. It’s hard to match him to the phantom player that gave Shuutoku a run for their money. But Kuroko never pays mind to his lack of height or his lack of presence or his lack of skill. He carries on through determination and hard work and that’s why Midorima respects him, and that’s why Midorima needs to hear some sort of answer, explanation, anything.

“Please,” Midorima says. He doesn’t know why or for what he’s pleading. 

Kuroko blinks, tilting his head to one side like that dog he likes to carry around. 

Midorima coughs. “Forget it,” he says forcefully. “Good luck with your game.” He nods once and turns around, ready for the ground to swallow him up for that embarrassing display.

“You too,” Kuroko says from somewhere behind him. Midorima keeps walking.

25.5

(“It must’ve been so boring,” Takao says, “Watching that game without me.”

“It was certainly quiet,” Midorima replies, not quite an acquiescence. Takao’s bed is warm under his weary practice-worn limbs, and Midorima can feel the sleepiness overtaking him.

“No need to be coy,” says Takao, his head resting on Midorima’s bicep, curling into his torso like a particularly cuddly cat. Midorima reaches his free arm over to pull Takao closer, if it were even possible. “I know you missed me.”

Midorima breathes out, he did miss Takao even if it was just for a day, and maybe that sounds a little co-dependent but really why wouldn’t he want to spend time with his best friend/boyfriend.

“I missed your bed,” says Midorima, shifting his head on the pillow, and knows Takao will read between the lines. 

Takao leers. “Yeah I bet you did.” Okay, Midorima didn’t want him to read between _those_ lines.

“Shut up, Takao,” he murmurs, and doesn’t even have the energy to be flustered about it either. Takao’s too warm, too comfy, and his eyes slide close against his will.

Takao doesn’t say anything back and Midorima drifts further, almost asleep but just barely awake enough to hear a voice coming from the door.

“I take it Shintarou-kun will be sleeping over, then?” it’s the slightly accented Japanese of Takao’s mother. 

He feels more than hears Takao’s chuckle, a vibration spreads to where Takao is clinging to his chest and arm. Midorima lets out a blissful sigh.

“I guess so,” Takao says quietly, fondly. 

Takao’s mother snickers softly, and Takao really is his mother’s son, Midorima can almost see her expression in his sleep. “I’ll go call Tomoe-san and let her know. Good night, baby.” 

“Goodnight.”

Midorima falls asleep.)

26

Haizaki is saying something to Kise over there on the court, it’s between whistles, the crowd excitedly chats with one another before they get to watch the action. No audience cares for words between the players.

Midorima isn’t a normal audience. 

“What’s he saying?” Midorima asks Takao, having dragged him out for the Fukuda-Kaijou match and for this early on a Sunday he’s surprisingly not even that cranky.

Takao hums, his eyes gain that far off look from using the Hawkeye, Midorima tries his best to bite down his discomfort, waiting for an answer.

“Something about,” Takao pauses. “Stealing Ryou-chan’s old girlfriend? Haizaki isn't even that handsome though…”

Midorima ignores the last part. “So that’s his game—taunting Kise. Can’t even win a game with his own skills.” 

His words are ice cold but there’s a fire burning in his gut because Kise is fragile. He’s headstrong only when pushed to the limit and Midorima hates that it means they’re going to have to see that limit if Kise wants to win this game. 

“Ryou-chan,” Takao murmurs and on the court Haizaki passes by Kise’s defense easily, giving him no time to react as he scores a layup.

“He’ll work through it,” Midorima says and gods, he hopes so.

26.5

The stadium is dead silent. 

The stadium is dead silent because Kise scored a three pointer. From under the opposite net.

Takao once told Midorima he makes a face when he’s shooting—like a snarl, he said, just a little tic that Midorima assumed he was exaggerating about, as Takao is wont to do, but there it is plain as day on Kise’s face. That’s Midorima’s perfected form, the high arch of the basketball, all net no basket, it’s like looking in a mirror. 

Kise has finally copied the GoM.

Midorima’s heart stutters, whether out of fear or pride he can’t tell, maybe a bit of both.

“Shin-chan,” says Takao, “that’s—”

“I know,” Midorima says. 

“Ryou-chan,” says Takao, “he—”

“I know,” Midorima repeats.

Midorima can’t for the life of him takes his eyes off Kise, not even for a second. He can see the confidence of Aomine, the diligence of Kuroko, the steadfast Murasakibara, the relentlessness of Akashi, and if he looks just a bit closer there’s determination belonging to nobody but Kise himself. 

Something gets caught in his throat as he watches Kise block with Murasakibara’s might and twist his body in some insane Aomine dunk. Haizaki is hissing between whistles and sending dark looks to Kise, who pays him no mind. There’s a warm hand on his shoulder suddenly and Midorima knows in an instant it’s Takao. It’s easier to breathe again.

“Ryou-chan,” Takao says and stops to laugh. When Midorima turns to him he’s got his free hand over his mouth to muffle the sounds, his gaze down towards the court. Midorima waits.

“Ryou-chan, he—” Takao snickers. He looks up at Midorima, beaming in delight. “He _owned_ Haizaki. Told him to fuck off.”

“Kise would never say that,” Midorima says. It’s practically illegal for Kise to curse.

“Okay, so _basically_ told him to fuck off,” says Takao.

Midorima scoffs. “You really are an unreliable source.”

“I speak nothing but the truth at all times,” Takao protests. _I know this, and I love you_ , Midorima thinks, the playful grin on Takao’s face is something to behold, and Midorima suddenly wants to be holding Takao. 

“The only truth in your statement is that you speak at all times. Nonstop, in fact,” Midorima counters, tugging gently on Takao’s hand, bringing it down between them hidden under the arm rest and intertwines their fingers.

“Shin-chan must like my voice a lot then,” Takao says cheekily, pointedly squeezing his hand. 

“Something like that,” and Midorima, damn him, can’t stop the fondness in his voice from betraying his aloof words. 

Takao doesn’t make a sound but Midorima knows when he turns his attention to the game again that he’s laughing at him.

27

“I've never seen Nii-chan so nervous for a game,” says Ichika, the night before Shuutoku’s match with Rakuzan and it makes Midorima look up from his phone. 

Kise’s only just lost against Seirin, the first semi-final game, injuring his ankle in the process and giving Midorima and Kuroko and even Kagami quite the scare. He’s already sent a billion texts wishing Midorima luck and insisting he’s not even that upset— and although Midorima knows him better than that, he can’t quite give the attention Kise needs from him right now—but Midorima still texts him back a “thanks” instead of “die” because he really is fragile.

Besides that, his family has noticed the stress Midorima is under even if they don’t quite understand it. There was never this kind of pressure during his Teikou days because they were the best and undefeated and winning was merely their right. Midorima had no reason to be nervous. 

“It’s the semi-finals,” his father points out. The living room holds all four of the Midorimas, scattered across in various seats. The TV is showing some superhero movie that Ichika and Takao like to gush over together, one that never fails to make Midorima sleepy.

“True,” says Ichika and then to him, “Hey, Shintarou-nii, can we come see your game?”

“No,” Midorima says and looks away when Ichika gets a crestfallen expression on her face.

It’s not as though he doesn’t want her there, he just doesn’t want her there when it’s _Akashi_ they’re facing. Rakuzan is going to be a messy, gritty battle and Midorima needs Ichika to stay far, far away. 

Midorima clears his throat when his father looks like he’s about to protest—he can tell, those narrowed eyes are a dead giveaway. “It’s a school night,” he says to the room, rather than just Ichika, and tomorrow _is_ Thursday and the game will be late. He can only hope it’s enough to keep his family’s suspicion at bay. 

“I’m not a child,” Ichika huffs out, crossing her arms.

Dad makes a face like he disagrees and Midorima allows himself a small sigh of relief. “Shintarou is right, it’s too late for you to go out, you’re only thirteen.”

“That’s practically an adult,” says Ichika angrily. 

Mom snorts. “If Ichika is an adult already then she can drive herself to the arena and pay for her own ticket—Ichika _no_ —” when Ichika dashes out to grab her wallet and quickly returns, proudly holding up a ¥1000 bill. A laugh is startled out of Midorima and he slaps a hand over his mouth to keep the noise from spilling out. 

Watching his mother and father try to catch the slippery Ichika, he promises to himself he’ll take Ichika to one of his basketball games, and it’ll be to the finals after they defeat Rakuzan.

28

Midorima remembers his Shogi games with Akashi. He remembers enjoying the times before—

Well, anyways, he and Akashi played throughout Teikou and Midorima had always lost. He remembers the uncomfortable way Akashi would watch him make a move, like he knew every possible outcome before Midorima could even move a piece. Akashi liked to compare it to basketball, Midorima never saw it.

“Midorima-kun,” it’s Kimura, jolting him out of his thoughts. That’s right he’s on the bench, it’s a few minutes to the Rakuzan game and Midorima can feel his heart beating hard already. “What’s that?” He nods to Midorima’s hand.

It’s the bishop piece from a Shogi set, and the characters declaring its rank stare up at him ominously. Midorima doesn’t know how to feel. “Today’s lucky item,” he tells Kimura, calmly, if not a little emotionless.

Kimura makes an ‘ahh’ sound. “Good thing it’s so small.”

“And what rank are you today?” Miyaji asks from beside him on the bench, tying his shoes absently.

“Second,” Midorima answers. 

The temperature in the locker room drops about 20 degrees, Midorima can feel Miyaji’s murderous gaze on his back. It’s all he can do to not cower under it. 

“What’s with that, huh? Go get first,” Miyaji demands, orders, Midorima’s not sure if there’s a difference when it’s coming from him. “I’ll bury you,” he adds, as if Midorima wasn’t terrified enough.

“It’s just fortune-telling,” Midorima says helplessly. 

A little ways away, he can hear Takao laughing and Coach Nakatani sighing. Then Ootsubo stands up, and all eyes are on him.

“All right, it’s time,” he all but roars, “Let’s go win this!”

And who is Midorima to disobey the captain’s order?

29

“Frankly, the rest of your team are nothing but burdens,” the Rakuzan shooting guard says. He’s one of the Uncrowned Kings—and god, Rakuzan has _three_ of them—and is staring at Miyaji in particular. 

Midorima has to bite his tongue to keep his anger in check. He can’t help the automatic sneer on his lips and the shooting guard must see something truly awful in his expression because he flinches back. 

“What did you say,” Midorima asks, cold as ice. 

But the shooting guard isn’t intimidated enough to not reply apparently and says, “It’s true our double-team barely has _you_ in check, but the other four are average at best.” He then shifts his gaze fully on Miyaji, who’s being pressured by the opponent small forward—another Uncrowned King, of course. “Especially him… I wonder how long he’ll last against Kotarou?”

Midorima freezes. It’s like he can feel everything at once in this moment. His hair is matted with sweat against his forehead. He can hear the panting of his teammates. The now composed, unrelenting gaze of that shooting guard. 

And then he sees Akashi steal the ball from Takao and pass it to his teammate.

Miyaji reacts first, running past him to catch the opposing small forward, who fakes his direction, leaving Miyaji in the dust. Miyaji curses, sprinting after him in vain, but Midorima can feel his own feet moving and the next thing he knows he’s blocking the small forward’s shot, knocking the ball from his hands mid-air. 

Midorima can’t remember ever being so fast before.

Takao catches the ball before it can go out of bounds, “Nice,” he calls out to Midorima sparing him a brief glance and then Midorima’s running back to the other side of the court because he knows the ball will be right in front of him in a blink of a (hawk)eye. 

The double-team of that arrogant shooting guard and the quiet screen are on him in a second but Midorima pays them no mind.

“Burdens,” Midorima asks, “What do you mean by that?”

He pushes past the quiet player, brushing him off with an intensity he hasn’t felt in a long time and catches Kimura’s signal over the shoulder of the remaining shooting guard. He breezes past him too, when Kimura screens the shooting guards attempt to follow.

The last of the Uncrowned Kings stands before him, defending and Midorima fakes a three pointer that has his opponent jumping too early, and then passes to Miyaji, lets him handle the rest.

“My teammates, a burden?” Midorima says to the shooting guard, as his jaw visibly clenches, “I know none of that.” And Miyaji dunks it.

When he’s jogging back to his defensive position, there is Miyagi, suddenly at his side and patting him on the shoulder. “Nice pass,” is all he says and Midorima smiles.

29.5

(Midorima is walking onto the court after halftime when Kise brushes past him, wearing a Seirin jacket of all things. They stop back to back, trying for discreet.

“Looks like you’re not doing that badly,” Kise comments.

Midorima scoffs. He has no preconceptions on how gritty this game will get. “We’ll see about that,” he says. “Akashi hasn’t used his Eye yet.”

Kise lets out a muted sound of shock and Midorima can hear the rustle of his jacket. Midorima remains facing forward, he can’t afford to let anything distract him.

“If he’s going to,” Midorima continues. “It’ll be in the second half. That’s where the showdown truly begins.”

Kise doesn’t say anything back and Midorima walks away.)

30

Akashi doesn’t let him do so much as breathe. 

The double cover that hounded Midorima in the first half is gone, replaced with the Emperor Eye and it’s terrifying wielder. 

Every fake is read with ease, every jump is read, every shot is read, and Midorima is sure he can see even the smallest twitch of his fingers with that Eye. And with that apathetic smirk, Midorima can feel that gaze watching his very own heart beat. 

It’s getting hard to choke down his panic, he’s so separated from his teammates he can’t pass, he wants to tell them to go without him. Akashi is focused on him so leave him behind but they keep passing to him, can’t they see he’s helpless? He doesn’t deserve to be called ace with this performance.

Akashi ankle breaks past him again and Midorima lands on the ground, gaping, the sound of the buzzer rings in his ears. 51-71, now. Rakuzan holds a twenty point lead.

Midorima pants in place. He’s never felt so powerless, not even during their loss against Seirin all those months ago. The ground is cool against his legs, he debates staying there forever.

“Come on, Shin-chan,” Takao says quietly at his back but Midorima can’t bring himself to move.

A hand slaps the back of his head hard and Midorima is shocked forward. Miyaji looks back at him. “How long are you gonna sit there, idiot? I’ll crack your glasses!”

“Oi,” Kimura says, gaining their attention. “Can’t you read those words—” he nods at the Shuutoku banner hanging from the audience. _Unyielding Tenacity_ , it reads, proud as ever. Kimura continues, “Get a grip!”

As he says that Midorima finally tunes into the crowd, hearing their encouragement and belief in Shuutoku. 

Ah, Midorima thinks, he’s not alone. 

He never was.

Takao’s arm is a warm comfort at his back and Ootsubo is in front telling them, “Midorima, Takao, we still have time! Don’t give up till the very end!” He throws the ball to Takao. “Start with one shot. Let’s play to win.” The two can only watch as their seniors get to their positions.

“You know, Shin-chan,” Takao says, contemplative. “Miyaji-senpai was really scary during practice.”

“Right,” Midorima says.

“Ootsubo-senpai was serious and strict. Practice itself was tough, but no one cut corners,” Takao continues. “I thought we’d die in practice camp, I puked so much... but you know, the watermelon Kimura-senpai brought in was really tasty.”

Midorima remembers—the grueling laps they’d do all day, towards the end Takao would be by the bushes and Midorima couldn’t even help him because he’s too busy hunched over with his hands on his knees. And then, when it seemed like no hope was left, there was Coach, ending practice, and behind him there was Kimura, in the back of Miyaji's truck surrounded by watermelon. The whole team dug in, Midorima included, and it felt nice. Just—really nice.

“Right,” Midorima says.

“The more I think about it,” Takao sighs, “The more I really want to play basketball with them.”

“Right,” Midorima says with finalty and picks himself off the ground. “Let’s go, Takao.”

“Of course,” says Takao and his sneakers squeak as he follows.

“And this time, we’ll show them _that_ move,” Midorima decides, meeting Takao’s startled expression head on, and there’s a feeling of satisfaction as it slowly gives way to determination. Takao nods, Midorima could take on the world.

30.5

Akashi’s shock is palpable.

Midorima gives himself a second to bask in the vindication of it all before he runs back to defend. It’s only the thought of their lacking score that keeps him from smirking, not that it stops his partner.

“They’re staring, you know,” Takao murmurs, grinning sly like a cat who’s caught the canary. He’s referring to Seirin, who’s lost somewhere in the audience, scoping out their next opponent.

“Let them stare,” says Midorima. He knows what they think of him, what they never bothered to learn about him. “Focus on the game, not the stands.”

“I know, I know,” Takao says.

30.75

It’s when Akashi knocks him down for the—he’s lost track of how many times, that Midorima thinks, _not yet_.

Don’t give up, he tells himself, falling down is not an embarrassment. 

_True embarrassment is not standing up after such a fall._

“Akashi!” He yells and blocks the net. 

Akashi is too quick thinking, passing swiftly to his teammate but Ootsubo is there knocking it from his hands and into Takao’s.

Takao’s down the court in a second and Midorima reaches his side in no time flat. He’s already jumping to his shooting position when the basketball lands in his palm perfectly and he _shoots_.

It goes in.

31

“And if we do lose,” Akashi is saying to his team, loud and carefree, “I will gouge out both of my eyeballs and offer them to you.”

That’s when, Midorima thinks grimly, the game changed from bad to shit. 

31.25

“I don’t plan on letting you even touch the ball,” Akashi tells him, with a manic smile that has the hairs on the back of Midorima’s neck standing on end.

31.5

They’re double-teaming Takao now, not giving him even the slightest of chances to pass to Midorima.

Midorima doesn’t care what he sees, he knows Takao. 

He jumps into his shooting form even before Takao brushes past the double-team.

He expects the ball in his hands in three.

two.

on—

“I thought I told you before,” Akashi says. His arm is raised and the basketball rests in his palm. He blocked Takao’s pass. “I am absolute.”

31.75

“You have renewed my respect, Shintarou,” says Akashi, as he hammers the last of the nails in Shuutoku’s coffin. If only Midorima had jumped sooner, higher… “And Shuutoku High School.”

“Until the very end, not one of you lost the will to fight,” he continues with that apathetic voice of his, while Midorima despairs. “But you still can’t reach. Now rest, king of veterans.” 

The buzzer rings out.

Shuutoku loses 70-86. 

32

It takes all his pride but he reaches out to Akashi, after. 

“It was our loss this time,” he says, extending his hand. “But next time, we will make sure to win!” 

Akashi merely tilts his head and Midorima is reminded, cruelly, of the Akashi he once knew and the one that stands now before him.

“I will give you my thanks, Shintarou,” Akashi says. “That was the first game in a while that had a bit of a thrill.”

Midorima clenches his jaw and counts to ten, just to keep from screaming aloud. Akashi, oblivious, glances down to his hand.

“I apologize that I cannot accept that handshake,” he says and funniest part is that he _does_ sound sorry. Midorima can’t _believe_ this. “If you seek victory, you must become more merciless… winning is everything, after all, and I wish to remain the foe for all of you.”

“I see,” Midorima says, and he does. From the oath he made all the way back then he hasn’t changed. Not even when the Miracles changed around him did he stop to wonder—

Kise and Kaijou. Murasakibara and Yousen. Aomine, Momoi and Touou. Kuroko and Seirin. Midorima and Shuutoku. 

And yet all Akashi has is—

subjugates. 

“You haven’t changed, Akashi… from back then,” Midorima says and regret settles deeply in his chest. He’s not the one who can save him, then, if this game has proven anything—but maybe... even then… “But, regardless, we _will_ win next time.”

33

“Final four, huh?” Takao says. His voice is the only sound other than the squeaking of their shoes as Shuutoku walks solemnly to the locker room. “Well, I guess that’s about what to expect. We really did well against _the_ Rakuzan, I mean.”

Midorima walks beside him blankly.

“Huh, Shin-chan, are you heartbroken and stuff?” Takao asks and he’s facing Midorima now, his arms raised behind his head, the picture of nonchalance. When Midorima looks closer he notices the strained smile he wears, the way it doesn’t meet his eyes. It drops from his face completely when their eyes meet, sharing nothing but disappointment and misery.

“But… sorry… I don’t think I can… cheer you up right now,” Takao’s voice cracks and that’s what does Midorima in, in the end.

“Figures,” Midorima says, trying for dryness but it’s caught in his throat, choked, and he can’t stop his tears but cutting in, “But it’s the same for me. It’s regretful to lose, after all…” 

“Why can’t you idiots cry like normal people,” Miyaji complains loudly and turns around so Midorima can see his eyes red and puffy, tear tracks staining his cheeks. “I hate hearing your weird attempts at comfort, just be sad together!”

Miyaji's words strikes a chord within him and Midorima can’t stop the sob he immediately lets out. Then he’s full on crying, his sight blurry with tears and he has to take off his glasses before they get wet, or worse, foggy.

Beside him he can hear Takao bawling and the sound makes his heart ache, and Midorima reaches for Takao’s hand, where he last remembers it being, between them.

“Oh shit,” says Miyaji.

“Yeah, _oh shit_ ,” Kimura says, and there’s a smacking noise and Miyaji whining. “Ootsubo,” Kimura calls out, “Miyaji broke _both_ of our freshmen!”

Ootsubo’s voice is resigned when he asks, “What did you do now?”

“He told them to go cry, so now they’re crying,” Kimura tattles.

Midorima tries not to laugh at the absurdity of it all because if he does he might choke. 

“I did not tell them to go cry,” Miyaji protests and Midorima dries his eyes with his jacket to see Ootsubo standing in front of him like a disappointed mom, hands on hips and that twist of his lips and everything. Midorima squeezes Takao’s palm and has to swallow another laugh as Miyaji finishes, “I may have implied it though.”

“Are you okay, Midorima-kun?” Kimura asks as Ootsubo proceeds to chew Miyaji out in the background. 

“I’m fine,” Midorima says stiffly. His voice is incredibly weak and he knows Kimura can hear it too. “I will be fine.”

Kimura sighs. “It’s a hard loss, but you’ll live. You and Takao… you’ll be better than us.” He gives them a rare smile that has Midorima desperately holding back another burst of tears. 

“Kimura-senpai…” says Takao, eyes misty and fingers tightening around Midorima’s. 

“Now, what’s with that tone?” Kimura asks, chuckling lightly. “It’s so weird to see the two of you crying; really you ought to be happy with the performance you had. I know for a fact that Ootsubo and Miyaji are proud. And me too, obviously.”

“Kimura-senpai,” Takao cries out and he’s suddenly jumping in Kimura’s arms. Kimura holds him, mute with shock. Midorima’s heart clenches at the sight. 

“Look, Kimura’s making them cry too!” Miyaji says loudly. 

Ootsubo turns with a sigh and double takes when he sees Takao sobbing in Kimura’s embrace. He looks at Midorima. “We’re not crying,” Midorima says.

“Not you, at least,” Ootsubo says patiently. He walks over to them and places a hand on Takao’s head. “It’s okay, Takao-kun, don’t cry.”

“Ootsubo-senpai,” Takao says and then leaves Kimura to tackle into Ootsubo’s chest. Ootsubo looks quite at a loss, but when he goes to pat lightly at Takao’s head, comforting, it’s easy to see the way Takao melts in his grasp. 

Midorima exchanges a glance with Miyaji, the only one not a part of the hug fest. “Try it and you’re dead,” says Miyaji. 

“Come on, Miyaji,” Kimura coos from beside him, a hand on his shoulder. His expression is open and playful, his grip on Miyaji is white-knuckled. Miyaji shivers, Midorima watches on curiously.

“No way,” Miyaji hisses, trying in vain to wrestle out of Kimura’s grip. “I don’t want a hug! And especially not from some gross, sweaty guys!”

“But senpai,” Takao pipes up, and his face is mostly dry now, along with some suspicious wet marks on Ootsubo’s jacket. “Who else is gonna hug you?”

“You little punk—” Miyaji snarls but before he can do anything further Midorima grabs his wrist. The hallway goes silent as Miyaji freezes.

Midorima looks down at him and Miyaji stares right back, and for all of his earlier talk, he seems to be asking, silently, ‘what next, then?’. Midorima tugs him forward and wraps his arms around Miyaji's shoulders. 

“Thank you, senpai,” Midorima says quietly, even though he’s sure the others can hear him anyway. 

“You don’t even know what you’re thanking me for.” Miyaji snorts softly and his hands are firm around Midorima’s torso.

Midorima does know, he just doesn’t know how to say it so he lets Miyaji have the final word. He likes having the final word.

A warm body snuggles between their embrace and Midorima doesn’t have to look down to know it’s Takao, just hugs tighter and hopes he’ll back off if he’s getting too suffocated. Two more bodies join in on either side and Midorima feels warm, complete, whole. Like he never has before.

34

“Shimura-chan asked me if we were dating the other day,” Takao says. Midorima’s fingers resting in Takao’s palms as he wraps them with athletic tape.

Midorima meets his eyes with a frown. “What did you tell her?”

“Ah, you know,” says Takao, skirting his gaze to instead focus on the taping. “I said, ‘wasn’t it obvious?’”

“Takao,” says Midorima, reproachfully.

“It’s only Shimura-chan,” Takao protests, but he still won’t meet Midorima’s eyes and he wraps a finger so tightly Midorima hisses. Mumbling out an apology, Takao continues, “She won’t tell anyone, she’s not like that.”

“She’s an Aries,” Midorima says, unimpressed.

Takao laughs but it’s small and airy, shy in a way Takao never is. Midorima purses his lips. “Would it really be so bad,” Takao says quietly, “if everyone knew?”

Midorima knows how Takao feels. They’ve talked about this before. How their families had taken to their relationship swimmingly, and their senpai too, but the whole school… Midorima doesn’t know if he’s ready for that kind of attention, because there _will_ be attention on them. 

Nobody needs to know and nobody deserves to know. 

“Not the whole school,” Takao says, as if reading Midorima’s thoughts. “Just our classmates… they wouldn’t care.”

“Why do we need to tell _anyone_ ,” Midorima demands. All the important people know already.

“I,” Takao says, stops. “We—I just—”

“Spit it out, Takao,” Midorima barks. He wants to practice sometime today.

“I wanna hold your hand in public!” Takao says loudly enough that Midorima startles. His eyes are blazing when he meets Midorima, his jaw set and chin raised stubbornly. “I want to kiss you during lunch break. I want to brag about my boyfriend who opens doors for me and makes my mom laugh and hugs me even when I’m being annoying and—”

Midorima kisses him, fast and sudden. Takao talks too much, and thinks too much too. 

“I don’t need to be bragged about,” Midorima tells him, softer now, after they separate. He’s not in a relationship for anyone but him and Takao. 

Takao’s lips quirk. “I know that but… is selfish of me to want to? I mean, look at what I have to work with.” He makes a show of looking Midorima up and down with a cheeky smirk. 

Midorima’s cheeks warm, and he turns his head away resolutely. 

“If it really bothers you,” Takao says, more serious now, “we don’t have to. I’m not gonna like—force us to come out or something when we’re not ready.”

It’s nice of Takao to use ‘we’ and ‘us’ when it’s just Midorima with a problem about it. But really, Midorima wants to hold Takao’s hand too. And tell the girls who flock around him in the hallway to back off. And share a bento without worrying someone will get the wrong (right) idea. And—

Midorima wants to let go of his fears. He wants to grow past this. He can grow past this. Takao by his side.

“If,” Midorima offers, heart beating quicker, “If it happens to come out—it comes out.”

Takao smiles, warm and sunny. “Yeah, okay,” he says and interlocks their fingers his lap. “I can live with that.”

**Author's Note:**

> I love midotaka, that's it, that's the fic. 
> 
> No but really if you wanna talk about midotaka with me further I have a tumblr [here](https://blue--in--green.tumblr.com/).


End file.
